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SOMETHING NEW 


FOR 


MY LITTLE FRIENDS. 



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PHILADELPHIA: 

J. B. LIPPINOOTT & CO. 

I 860 . 







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Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1865, by 
J. B. LIPPINCOTT & CO. 

in the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the United States for the Eastern 

District of Pennsylvania. 


3 o 0 



PREFACE. 


The Author would not wish to assume the 
stern office of Mentor, but claims, instead, that 
warm sympathy for children entitles her to 
publish these little stories with loving confi- 
dence. 

The Author yielded to the impulse to put in 
simple form truths clear to her own mind, and 
the following stories were the result. 

Several little friends, for whose pleasure 
they were intended, listened with an interest 
that led the writer to think other children 
might like them also. F. F. 

Philadelphia. 


(iii) 

























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CONTENTS 


The Selfish Girl, 


Page 

. 7 

The Boys and the Squirrels, 

. 

11 

The Cat and her Kittens, 

, , 

. 13 

Angry Words, .... 

. . 

17 

Lady Jane, 

. . 

. 20 

Gone to Heaven 

. 

22 

A Kun on the Beach, 

, 

. 25 

The Boy and his Prize, 

. . 

33 

Lily, 

. . 

. 37 

The Boy and his Sled, . 

. 

38 

Little Amy, . 

. 

. 41 

The Disobedient Chicks, 

. 

45 

Queen Discontent, 

. 

. 51 

Annie's Temptation, 

. 

57 

The Old Bear, .... 

. 

. 60 

The Envious Bose, . 


62 

The very Yain Child, 


. 65 


(V) 


V] 


CONTENTS. 


The Two Friends, . 


Page 

67 

The Young Soldier. . 

, 

. 71 

The Grateful Bird, 

. 

73 

The Empty House, 

. 

00 

Forbear, .... 

. 

80 

George and his Canary, . 

. 

. 81 

The Old Table, 

. 

85 

Fresh Flowers, . 

. 

. 88 

The Conceited Fowl, 

. 

94 

King Will, .... 


. 96 

The Old Magpie, 

. 

. 100 

Charley's Sister, 

. 

. 110 

Ships at Sea, . 

. 

. 113 

The Bee and the Fly, 

. 

. 115 

“Only a Joke!” 

. 

. 117 

The Greedy Mouse, 

. 

. 120 

The Cousins, 

. 

. 124 


SOMETHING NEW 


FOR 

MY LITTLE FRIENDS. 


THE SELFISH GIRL. 

H ER skin was so fair, and her brown hair in 
curls, 

Her mouth was so small, while her teeth were like 
pearls ; 

Her plump little form was so modelled by grace, 
To match all the charms of her beautiful face, 
People said she was lovely; but near friends, I 
own, 

Could not speak in her praise with a confident 
tone. 

For what was the value of figure or face, 

When selfishness dimmed half the light of their 
grace ? 

Why mark the rare bloom of her beautiful skin, 
When temper was reigning triumphant within ? 

( 7 ) 


8 


THE SELFISH GIRL. 


She never would share with a playmate or friend, 
A cake or an apple. She always would spend 
On herself all the money her mother might give, 
Yet all favors from others would silent receive. 
She took them as one hut enjoying a right, — 

Such selfishness made her a very sad sight. 

Then, if she was crossed — if her mother would say, 
“ My darling can’t go in the carriage to-day, 

She will play at the door like a good little girl !” 

I declare you’d forget that her hair was in curl, 
And her face once so pretty. A strange, ugly 
frown, 

As black as a thunder-cloud, slowly dropped down. 
It began very high, near the roots of her hair, 

And it spread o’er her face till no beauty was 
there. 

If some little visitor, spending the day, 

"Was sent to the nursery where all her toys lay, 
She always would rule, and she never would yield, 
Like an obstinate general alone in the field ; 

And whatever the rest might desire to play, 

She managed to choose out the opposite way. 

If another one wanted the dolls to go out, 

She would keep them all in, — not a shadow of 
doubt ! 


THE SELFISH GIRL. 


9 


If a visitor hinted, “ Let’s put one to bed, 

And pretend she is ill with a pain in her head, 
And the doctor must come,” — she would say, “Ho, 
I shan’t ! 

She shall go on a visit straight off to her aunt ; 
And you he the aunt, — you must do as I say, — 

I know how to pick out the prettiest play !” 

Do you think she was happy ? That never could he ! 
God gives a great power to you and to me 
To make others happy, — the only true way 
To make our own lives like a sunshiny day. 

This poor little girl could not see it at all; 
Though her eyes were so large, yet her heart was 
so small, 

It seemed this plain truth she was never to know, 
That would kindle her life in a generous glow, 
And make her so happy, so loving, and true, 

That a mean, selfish action she never could do. 

She lived for herself. But a child, you may say, 
The love of her kind friends can never repay. 

Her hands are so weak, and her power is so small : 
She can speak out her thanks, and you say that 
is all. 

Dear little ‘one! God is now saying to you, 

For each and for all there is something to do. 


10 


THE SELFISH GIRL. 


Kind words, or a kiss, when a playmate would 
cry; 

Kind looks, or an alms, if a beggar goes by; 

The thought for another that keeps your tongue 
still, 

Though anger may wrestle as hard as it will; 

The candor that speaks when some mischief is 
done, 

Which your mother' might blame on an innocent 
one ; 

The favorite play given up when you see 

The rest on some other game fain would agree ; 

These things make you happy! Grand houses 
and toys 

Will never give to you one hint of such joys! 

These are trifles, you say! Ah, from heaven 
above, 

The angels look down, and the children they love 

Are those who are doing these same little things ; 

Then the angels say, waving their radiant wings, 

“Now God is well pleased, for the beautiful prayer 

Of the little ones’ lives rises sweet on the air. 

They have found in their hearts the acceptable 
way 

Their Heavenly Father would have them to pray.” 


THE BOYS AND THE SQUIRRELS. 


11 


THE BOYS AND THE SQUIRRELS. 


T WO little squirrels sat up in a tree. 

Cracking their nuts, just as gay as could be; 
With tails curled behind them, and fur bright and 
soft, 

It really did seem as they swayed there aloft, 
They were waiting with hope in the sunlight that 
day, 

A photographist surely might wander that way — 
And taking their likeness, make squirreldom stare 
At the two pretty creatures thus photographed 
there. 


Two sturdy boys sat just under the tree, 

Each resting a terrible gun on his knee. 

All around them so lovely, so smiling, and gay, 
It would seem that a cruel thought never could 
stay 

To darken the landscape our Father made fair, 
That His children in peace and in love might dwell 
there. 4 


12 


THE BOYS AND THE SQUIRRELS. 


Down dropped a large nut ; — by unluckiest chance 
The boys, looking upwards, in merriest dance 
Saw both the young squirrels — unconscious and 
free, 

As they ran on the boughs of the friendly old 
tree. 

“ Hurrah ! ” cried the eldest, — “I’ll soon make one 
fall! 

They’ve had frisking enough— here’s an end to it 
all!” 

He pointed the gun. Hark ! a terrible sound, 
And one poor little squirrel lies dead on the ground. 

Its lithe little body all bleeding and torn, 

It never will run in the freshness of morn, 

To gather the nuts from its favorite tree. 

Ho more in the sunlight the squirrel you’ll see, 
Perched on some high bough, with his bright little 
eyes, 

That seemed on the watch ’gainst a sudden surprise. 
He lies on the ground stiff and silent instead— 
The poor little innocent squirrel is dead! 


THE CAT AND HER KITTEN. 


13 


THE CAT AND HER KITTEN. 

THERE once lived a Cat in a beautiful house ; 

She never would stoop to run after a mouse, 
But lay in a room on a cushion so fine, 

When the rest of the family came in to dine. 
She had four legs, which surely were better than 
two — 

So she waited her share, and had nothing to do. 
She secretly thought it a favor most rare, 

That she with such graces should deign to live there ! 

She once was a beauty, and light on her toes, 
And still took great pride in the shape of her nose ; 
It was long as aristocrat’s always should be; 
Then her eyes were half-closed so she scarcely could 
see, 

In a languid indifference to persons and things, 
While she scorned, from youth upwards, to run after 
strings. 

She dined in her age off a nice China plate, 
Then took a long nap by the side of the grate. 

You think she was shielded from sorrow and care ; 
Alas ! her sad mind held its secret despair ; 

For she had one young Kitten — a troublesome 
thing — 

That delighted to jump at a spool or a string 


14 


THE CAT AND HER KITTEN. 


■With no thought for appearances— full of its fun — 
And charmed above all things to take a good run ! 

In vain with large tears running over her face, 
The Mother would point to the quieter grace, 
That lay hid in her own far more beautiful form ; 
Decorum would never permit her to storm, 

But she lectured the Kitten; it thought it good 
fun, 

And remembered to take an additional run 
When its Mother was napping beside the warm 
grate, 

In a graceful position becoming such state. 

Though the Mother was grieved, she was safe in 
one thing ; 

If the Kitten would run at a hall or a string, 

In one point at least, though all others might fail, 
She would have her own way. The young Cat had 
a tail 

That was long and as glossy as Kitten’s could he ; 
All the children delighted its beauty to see. 

The Mother-Cat said, (for the Kitten was vain 
Of her beautiful tail, though I tell it with pain,) 

“ My love ! one great lesson more solemn than all ! 
Kever play with your tail ! If you do it will fall, 
And leave me despairing; — It never will grow! 
Kow heed what I’m saying — the habit is low. 


THE CAT AND HER KITTEN. 


15 


If the little plebeians will chase in that way, 
They’re not in my keeping ; I’ve nothing to say ! ” 

The Kitten remembered the terrible fate, 
Foretold by its Mother that dozed near the grate, 
And never forgot, in its frisking and fun, 

The amusement was dangerous, and couldn’t he 
done. 

Alas for instruction ! The Mother one day 
Said, “ Kitten ! I’ve something important to say. 
I yesterday met with an old friend of mine, 
That was so glad to see me she asked me to 
dine. 

She invited you, too — having young cats, you 
know;” 

The Kitten replied it would like much to go. 

They started, and soon reached a sunshiny yard 
That seemed made for kittens. The gravel was 
hard 

And the grass long and wavy; four young cats 
were there, 

Sent out by their mother to breathe the fresh air. 

The old ones adjourned to a summer-house near, 
To talk of old times, and the coast was left clear 
For the young cats that ran through the tall, waving 
grass, 

And both mothers looked out when they happened 
to pass. 


16 


THE CAT AND HER KITTEN. 


But the grand one stops chatting, and gives a low 
cry, 

Then says, with a groan and a tear in her eye: 

“I told it to never run after its tail!” 

Here she sank back despairing, and gave a low wail. 

Then the other one looked, and beheld the young 
cat, 

While around it the other approving ones sat, 

In a joy that had made its poor mother turn pale, 

Bunning ’round with great gusto, and chasing its 
tail, 

In an ecstasy words only feebly can tell ; 

While the rest cried, “ Improving,” and one “ Very 
well ! ” 

The hostess said, touching her visitor’s side, 

As she leaned near a window and piteously cried, 

“ How, don’t be disheartened ! This never will do. 

My friend, I must whisper a few words to you. 


“ Improve it, and teach it as much as you can ; 
The Kitten is one in Dame Hature’s great plan; 
If you thwart her too much you will certainly fail ; 
A kitten was made to run after its tail!” 


ANGRY WORDS. 


17 


ANGRY WORDS. 

I N a very large garden, one sunshiny day, 

A little boy ran at his work or his play ; 

It is hard to say which, for the gardener there too, 
Directed the little hoy just what to do ; 

And he ran to one bed, stooped and pulled up the 
weeds, 

In his tiny wheelbarrow he carried the seeds 
That were wrapt in brown papers, then worked 
with his spade, 

And you couldn’t believe what a racket he made 
The whole of the time; and he worked like a 
horse ; 

So the gardener was very much aided, of course. 

But he heard a low ring, which he knew very well, 
In a pause of his work, and he ran quick to tell 
To his father how much of the labor was done : 

He would kiss him, and call him his dear little son. 
And they met in the entry, but what a grave face, 
As the little boy stopped all aglow from his race. 
He kissed him in silence, then gently he said, 

“ My son, little Harry, your cousin, is dead !” 

And the boy, with a low, and most desolate sound, 
Bushed into the garden and fell on the ground. 


18 


ANGRY WORDS. 


In an anguish his young heart felt never before ; 
And he sobbed on the grass by the side of the 
door, — 

“Ho, no! it can’t he that he really is dead, 
When I longed so to see him!” the little hoy 
said. 

“ 0, Harry ! dear Harry ! come hack to my side.” 
But no little cousin in kindness replied; 

And refusing all comfort, he wept, hut in vain, 
For the friend that would ne’er run to meet him 
again. 

Shall I tell you what caused him that terrible cry ; 
When he seemed broken-hearted, and could not 
reply ? 

The two little cousins — the day was so bright — 
Were out in the garden, each flying his kite, 

And just as intent on the length of his string, 

As if all the wealth of the world it would bring. 
Tied on to the tail of each frail paper kite, 

That shone just like silver — they glistened so 
bright — 

And both were as pleasant as boys could well be, 
As they ran through the walks with great shout- 
ing and glee. 


How Harry, — he didn’t know how it was done, — 
But heedless with racing, and dazzled with sun, 


ANGRY WORDS. 


19 


Ran straight into Howard, and snap went the 
string ; 

And away flew one kite like a bird on the wing ! 
Mirth flew away with it, — a loud storm of wrath 
Startled two little birds hopping round on the 
path. 

“ I hate you ! you did it on purpose !” he said. 

“O, Howard! I didn’t! Here, take mine instead,” 
Said the little boy, rising, all covered with dust. 
“You really won’t have it? oh, take it! you 
must!” 

But Howard rushed in and quick bolted the door, 
And his dear little cousin he never saw more. 

He felt most unhappy the rest of the day, 

And was sobered and sorry. He tried hard to play, 
But a dull, heavy burden lay deep in his mind, 
And no pleasure in books nor in games could he. 
find. 

Then he said, “I was such a weak, passionate fool, 
And I’ll say so to-morrow, the first thing at school. 
I feel just as sorry as sorry can be ;” 

But the thought of his vow made his spirit more 
free. 

In the morning he looked for his friend to come 
in,— 

He was always so punctual, — but lessons begin, 


20 


LADY JANE. 


And no cousin is there. Then he says, very low 
“ I’m more sorry than ever, to-morrow I’ll go, 
When half holiday comes, that is just what I’ll do, 
Straight off to their house, and I’ll say what is 
true, 

That I feel so ashamed. He’ll forgive and forget, 
Though I can’t for a month, my ridiculous pet !” 

Ah, a terrible fever had laid its fierce hand 
On the cousin he wronged. Nevermore will he 
stand 

In the class at his side. He’s with angels instead, 
And they whisper it, sobbing, “Hear Harry is 
dead !” 


LADY JANE. 

A CHILD sat with an open hook, 
As still as any mouse; 

Then suddenly one leap she took, 
That fairly shook the house; 

And darting where the children sat 
Amidst their blocks in play ; 

She called aloud, “Enough of that! 
Quick! put your things away. 


LADY JANE. 


21 


“I mean to act you Lady Jane; 

The queen cut off her head 
Because, poor thing, she tried to reign, 
The youthful actress said. 

“Sit on the sofa. Now, you see, 

These tables make the stasre : 

One must the executioner be, 

In quite a wicked rage. 

“And one, — dear me ! but that will do, — 
I really am the chief; 

It takes but one to act it through; 

The rest can do the grief. 

“ My hands you see crossed on my breast ; 
This towel is my veil; 

My eyes are red, my heart’s opprest, 

My cheeks are thin and pale.” 

A rosy child she climbed the stage, 

Her face composed to grief, 

The rest, in awe of learned age, 
Content she should be chief. 

“ There, stand away ; the play begins ; 
And don’t make any noise. 

At first, I think of all my sins ; 

Now do be quiet, boys !” 


22 


GONE TO HEAVEN. 


With whispered words, in hollow tone, 

She walked the tables wide, 

Then turned, with many a lengthened groan, 
And swayed from side to side. 

With half-shut eyes, a sudden lurch 
She gave, and then in vain 
Both hands flew out, as in a search, 

Her balance to regain. 

Too near the edge, away she flew ; 

Alas, for queenly pride ! 

The younger children never knew 
How Lady Jane Grey died. 


GONE TO HEAVEN. 

** T ET in the light,” a woman spoke, 

-L^ And through the room warm sunshine 
broke 

And played upon the wall. 

A spring-bird hopped across the sill, 

And, as it passed, the piping shrill 
Startled the ears of all. 

The country orchards whiten fast, 

And leaves a tempting shadow cast; 

But Winter lingers here, 


GONE TO HEAVEN. 


23 


No tree has spread its fresh’ning leaves 
Above the garret’s dreary eaves; 

Can Summer he so near? 

A room, dim, narrow, that the eye 
Turns wistful towards the clear blue sky 
That overhangs us all ; 

So mean that life seems wasted — dead; 
So high, the city’s ceaseless tread 
Sounds like a muffled call. 

A low half-sob upon the air, 

A rustle on the creaking stair, 

Tell plainly, “ Death is here!” 

And with the sunlight on its head, 

A smile around her lips, is laid 
A child held close and dear. 

No roses on the simple shroud; 

No requiem o’er a grieving crowd; 

No solemn state nor pall. 

A mother stauds beside the bed, 

An anguish in her voice and tread, 
That awes the hearts of all. 

No beauty on that care-worn face, 

Save that a pitying eye may trace 
The mother’s look still there. 


24 


GONE TO HEAVEN. 


Her fingers clasp that dimpled hand, 

As if she strove to understand 
And meet her strange despair. 

Ho other child!— her cherished— last ; 

The Present merges in the Past, 

And Life and Thought stand still. 

If seems a meny laugh must come 
Prom smiling lips that still are dumb, 

And never more will thrill. 

The needle that in solemn jest 
Had toiled — the plaything — all the rest 
That childhood hoards with care; 

The little dress in frolic torn, 

And shoes with many a climbing worn, 

All lay unheeded there. 

Let in the light on sorrowing hearts ! 

The light of Hay in clouds departs, 

Put pitying angels wait ; 

And from God’s Heaven great, countless stars 
Shine down on dreary prison bars, 

As on the palace gate! 


A RUN ON THE BEACH. 


25 


A RUN ON THE BEACH. 

fTIHREE happy children they ran on the sands, 
-L Shouting, all flushed with the sunshine and 
glee; 

Dropping the shells through their little wet hands— 
Madcaps let loose like the waves of the sea. 

“ Skipping these pebbles is very fine fun, 

As they dance over the breakers out there, 
And for a race you may hook me for one, 

Out of two runners who try to start fair. 

“But, little Mary, you take your last throw, 
Then we will rest by those rocks near the beach. 
We are great hoys — you are younger, you know — 
Now let us see who the farthest can reach ! ” 

Loud laughed the child as her stone sped away; 

“ Edgar ! oh, Edgar ! mine flew out alone ! 
Yours, I saw it, it stopped by the way; 

Mine’s the best racer — my wonderful stone. 

“ Harry, look out there ; I wish it were here ; 

I’d take it to Mamma and throw it again. 

I wish she’d been with us and standing right near; 
I’m sure there’s none like it on beach or in lane !” 


26 


A RUN ON THE BEACH. 


Resting they sat, where the rocks hare and gray, 
Towered a frowning old castle above; 
Sunshine gleamed in when such dwellers as they 
Lit the dark cliffs with their freshness and love. 

“Look, little cousin,” this beautiful shell 

Streaked pink and white, and so shining, you see, 
Finished so daintily thro’ its deep cell : 

I found it an hour ago; whose shall it he? 

“For you, or for Harry? I really can’t say 
To which I will give it ; so what shall I do ? 
Good ! I have hit on an excellent way ; 

Then I can judge ’twixt our Harry and you ! 

“Harry is older, so he shall begin. 

Each of you tell me some story you’ve heard. 
You needn’t be frightened if sea-birds look in ; 
They’re excellent listeners, and can’t tell a word. 

“ Come, now, begin ! I am ready to hear ; 

Captain, lead off; you’ve a plentiful stock. 
Speak rather loud ; for old Heptune stands near, 
Striking his trident down deep in the rock.” 

“ What shall I tell ? Here is one that I read, 
With my old Grammar still staring at me. 

The lessons go galloping out of my head, — 

The tales stay forever, though why, I don’t see !” 


A RUN ON THE BEACH. 


27 


harry’s story. 

Children two they dwelt together, 

Where Italian sunlight shone. 

Pining not for English heather, 

Where their Mother’s thoughts had flown. 

One was pale — the roses never 

Tinged her cheeks with crimson dyes ; 

But the blue of the far river 
Was not deeper than her eyes. 

Older was the boy, and stronger, 

That another claimed his care; 

And while strangers hoped no longer, 
Quick to plan, and brave to dare; 

Curious things from rock and river, 

Leaves where wondrous insects wrought, 

Shining stones that gleam forever, 

To that sister pale he brought. 

Hopeful in the love that quickened 
Her slow feet to swifter pace, 

Though the Mother’s heart turned, sickened, 
From the brightness in her face. 

Fading still, her little fingers 

Nerveless clasp the flower he brings; 

Soon will eyes whose light still lingers, 

Open on celestial things! 


28 


A EUN" ON THE BEACH. 


“ Mother! once they whispered near me, 
‘Very soon the child will die!’ 

It was dark, they did not hear me; 
Mother, dearest, do not cry ! 

“ Then a strange, cold, fear came o’er me, 
And I said, ‘ I cannot go !’ 

God is good, and all before me 
Seems to speak and answer no! 

“ Quick I came to clasp you tighter, 
Feeling safe while you were near; 
Now my heart is calm and brighter, 

For a dream which you shall hear. 

“In the night-time I seemed lying 
In our room, but all alone; 

And I felt that I was dying; 

How I longed to catch your tone ! 

“ Twice I said, ‘ Oh, come, dear Mother ! 
Take my hand and hold me fast;’ 
Then I tried to call you, Brother, 

While my fluttering breath might last. 

“As I called, some one stood near me, 
Bending down, he gently smiled, 
Saying, ‘Daughter, do not fear me; 

Come with me, beloved child.’ 


A RUN ON THE BEACH. 


29 


“It was dark, but through the shadows 
I could see him, fair and tall, 

Just as plain as if bright meadows 
Threw their sunshine on the wall. 

“And I knew him then, dear Mother, 

By the picture that you kiss, 

As he said, 4 God’s hand, no other, 
Leads through Death to Life like this !* 

“ Then he told of lands so shining, 

That I clasped him by the hand, 
With a new and eager pining, 

Towards that far-off, glorious land; 

“And he said, 4 The Heavenly morrow 
Dawns, dear child, for such as thee; 
And no sickness, pain, nor sorrow, 

In that radiant home will be ! ’ 

44 Long he held me, in his keeping 
I felt safe as if you came 
By the bed where I was sleeping; 

And your faces grew the same. 

44 Soon the brightness of the morning 
Broke upon me where I lay, 

And I felt to you returning, 

I would be content to stay; 


30 


A KUN ON THE BEACH. 


“ Then that voice spoke : 4 Little daughter, 
Whom I came last night to kiss, 

Safe across the troubled water, 

God will lead to higher bliss. 

44 4 But a little while before them, 

Mother, Brother, soon will come ; 
Heaven is always stretching o’er them 
Darling ! enter first their home ! ’ ” 

Soon the little hands were folded; 

Soon the little form was chill ; 

But a life for Heaven was moulded, 

And the Mother’s grief was still. 


44 Oh, Edgar ! indeed, I have nothing like that ! 

I felt just like crying — he made it so true. 

How, mine, I’m afraid, will sound stupid and flat, 
It’s not very pretty, and not very new. 

44 1 studied it over for Mamma one day; 

She says that my needle lies hid in its case ; 

I told her I really had something to say, 

And handed my book with a mark at the place.” 


A RUN ON THE BEACH. 


31 


MARY’S STORY. 

A little Ant by oddest chance, 

Was very often lazy, 

And in the sunlight loved to dance; 

Folks thought her really crazy. 

They held a meeting on the case, 

These ants so old and clever; 

She, careless of her deep disgrace, 

Grew lazier still than ever. 

Her Mother went, with anxious mind, 

To see an Owl so hoary, 

And while he blinked, with eyes half blind, 
She told her woful story. 

“ 0, nonsense,” said the list’ning judge, 

“I'll hear complaints no longer; 

She’s very wise; such talk is fudge; 

Play makes the sinews stronger. 

“ Soon such a heavy load she’ll bring, 

You’ll triumph in her labor, 

And say, amidst the swarming ring, 

‘Look there, my carping neighbor.’” 


32 


A RUN ON THE BEACH. 


This comfort in her troubled heart, 

The Mother went along: 

At length one day, — a weary part, — 

No more a worker strong — 

She tried to lift a heavy load, 

The effort laid her flat; 

When sprang the young one on the road, 
“Ho, ho! a trifle that.” 

She whisked it in the narrow door, 

And soon returned to say, r 
“I never had such fun before; 

I’d like to work all day!” 

“Well, well, old Mr. Owl was right,” 

The gazing Mother said; 

“He blinked, hut saw a wondrous sight; 

I’ll take a rest in bed.” 

* * * * * 

Edgar glanced up with a quizzical look, 

“Better draw lots with this sea-weed,” he said, 
“I never read better ones out of a book; 

All choosing is driven clean out of my head.” 


THE BOY AND HIS PRIZE. 


33 


THE BOY AND HIS PRIZE. 

I T was summer-time : all through that beautiful 
wood 

The birds seemed to know that the Giver was good, 
And poured forth their matins in musical notes, 
That gushed fresh and clear from their delicate 
throats. 

And the trees, how they waved in the sunlight that 
day, 

As, stepping so briskly across the cleared way, 

A bright-looking boy, with his books and his slate, 
Too eager to look, and too hurried to wait, 

Passed through to the clearing, and in the school 
door, 

While we turn to the beautiful woodland once 
more. 

Along the same path soon another boy came ; 

And he said as he went, “It’s a terrible shame 
That I should be cheafed so out of my prize 

By one that’s no bigger, — a boy just my size, . 

And a new one at that. Now, why couldn’t he 
stay 

Till this prize had been given clear out of the way. 
I am sure he will gain it ; the fellow’s no fool ! 

Till he came I stood highest of all in the school.” 

3 


34 


THE BOY AND HIS PRIZE. 


He muttered these words to himself as he went, 
And just at that moment he suddenly bent 
To pick up a paper that lay on the grass, 

As if quietly waiting for some one to pass. 

He opened and read it ; an ominous frown 
Looked as dark as the smoke hanging over the 
town ; 

Then a flush came across it, and quickly he said, 

11 This can stay for a while in my pocket instead.” 

The hoys were assembled ; the master came in, 
With a kindly expression, hut wearied and thin, 
And said to the younger ones, deep in their fun, 
“Well, hoys, for a while this dull schooling is 
done ; 

But you won’t forget all, when you run off so fast ; 
Keep spelling, at least till the summer has passed.” 
Then he went to his desk; the few lessons were 
said ; 

And the master cried, putting one hand to his head, 
“ And now for the prize in my favorite class ; 

Don’t all of you claim it, I beg you, en masse 

From its brown paper cover the schoolmaster drew 
A red and gilt book, and exposed it to view 
On the front of his table ; and two little boys 
Rose hastily, making a very great noise, 

And as hastily sat when the master looked down, 
Though his face could not possibly muster a frown. 


THE BOY AND HIS PRIZE. 


35 


“ James Hill, take your place; you had better 
stand near ; 

And speak rather loud, that your schoolmates may 
hear.” 

The hoy turned to his desk, and he opened a 
hook, 

Which he turned, and then lifted, and carefully 
shook ; 

And a keen disappointment swept over his face 

As he glanced, hut in vain, round the whole nar- 
row space. 

“ I have lost it,” he said, in a tone of despair ; 

“ I had it, but now it no longer is there. 

I walked to the town with my hooks, and it 
dropped, 

I suppose.” Then the tears came, — he suddenly 
stopped. 

“ Well, well,” said the master, I’ll break my own 
rule ; 

I give half an hour to go from the school 

And get the rough copy. Vacation’s so nigh, 

We will pass your strange carelessness quietly by.” 

“ But I tore up that copy,” the boy slowly said ; 

“I must try for a prize the next season instead.” 


The essays were carefully read by the rest, 
And one was held up and decided the best. 


36 


THE BOY AND HIS PRIZE. 


“John Roberts, you’ve gained it, and fairly, we 
know. 

Row, boys, we will have a brief chat ere you go.” 

There John sat with the prize he had purchased 
so dear; 

The words of his master still rang in his ear. 

And he picked up the hook; then he glanced at 
the name, 

And felt on both cheeks the sharp tingling of 
shame. 

It was “Honor : A Story for Boys,” so it read; 

Ah, that scene in the woodland came into his 
head! 

He crushed deep in his pocket the sign of his sin, 

With the name of its owner traced clearly within ; 

And he felt a dull weight where he once felt so 
free, 

As he said, “ There was none who could possibly 
see.” 

Then he wondered he could not rejoice as he 
ought, 

When the beautiful prize, he so eagerly sought, 

Was safe in his hand, and no person could say/ 

“ ^here is the lost essay you picked up to-day ?” 

Ah ! but Conscience spoke loud ; so you readily see, 

He felt wretched and mean as a boy could well be! 


LILY. 


oi 


LILY. 


rTIENDER and fair, with a voice low and sweet, 
J- Reared though she was in a small, narrow street, 
Where sunshine came only to glance in the pane, 
And vanish away from the squalor again. 

Where men with coarse faces, so haggard and bent, 
Lived down to the level of stolid content ; 
Where Ignorance reigned, and their voices in 
prayer, 

Rose faint, if at all, on the desolate’ air ! 


Where many slept hungry, and little ones cried 
For the bread their poor Mother in kindness denied, 
That noontide might bring them a morsel of food ; 
There lived she, where Life seemed so barren and 
rude. 

A little one strangely dropped out of God’s fold, 
That so the dim eyes of the evil and bold 
Might catch a faint vision of innocent grace, 

As they turned for a moment to look on her face. 


38 


THE BOY AND HIS SLED. 


THE BOY AND HIS SLED. 

66 T DECLARE, this is shameful ! — it’s always the 
J- way ! 

Just when I expected a clear, frosty day, 

To go with the boys, and have fun on my sled, 
This horrible rain is now pouring instead ! ” 

It was such a bright room where the little boy stood, 
And the meal on the table looked smoking and 
good. 

There were muffins, with butter as yellow as gold, 
"While the steam from the coffee-urn lazily rolled, 
As his Mother sat waiting; and such a nice smell 
Seemed to hint that inside all was going on well ! 
Then the maid, with white apron, brought in the 
hot meat ; 

Still the boy stood, and sullenly looked down the 
street. 

“ I’ve a story to tell you, my dear little son ; 
Come here to my side — it’s a very short one,” 

Said his Eather, who sat with the news in his hand; 
“ It is one that I trust we may all understand. 

“As I went to my office, wrapt up close and warm, 
To face the keen blast of the pitiless storm, 


THE BOY AND HIS SLED. 


39 


I yesterday passed by a mean, little street; 

It blew so, I hardly could stand on my feet; 
My umbrella was twisted almost inside out, 

And I couldn’t help wishing myself just as stout 
As a man who ran by, in a warm, ruddy glow, 
"With such seeming delight, through the sleet and 
the snow. 

“ 4 Will you give me some money?’ a trembling 
voice said. 

I looked down at the pale little speaker instead ; 
He was poor as could be, that was certainly true — 
As he raised his brown eyes, I thought, Harry, of 
you. 

“ 4 Indeed, I’m no beggar, but Katy’s so cold ! 

The room that we live in is dismal and old ; 

And, last night, as I lifted her into the bed, 

The thought of an ice-house came into my head. 
This morning we really had nothing to eat, 

And I said, I don’t care ! I’ll go beg in the street !’ 
Here I took the boy’s hand, and said, ‘ Show me 
the way ; 

Little Katy shall have a good breakfast to-day !’ 

“ As up the dark stairs, hand-in-hand we both went, 
I thought, little son, of my slight discontent 
With a feeling of shame, as I looked at my guide : 
Such a frail little fellow, to keep by my side ! 


40 THE BOY AND HIS SLED. 

Then he opened a door ; it was cold, as he said ; 

In a corner there lay on a mean, narrow bed, 

A Mother, who turned on her pillow, and smiled 
As she met that new hope in the face of her child. 
By her side sat a little one, blue with the cold, 

But her figure was rounded, her hair shone like 
gold. 

“In the room were some chairs, and a very small 
cot, 

And a few dingy books ; but I saw there was not 
In that whole dreary chamber a morsel to eat, 

As the child, with his trembling voice, told in the 
street. 

And, I said, 4 Let us go, without further delay,— 

It is hard to be hungry this bitter cold day !* 

“ So we went to a cook-shop, — I carried the bread, 
And in just twenty minutes those children were 
fed; 

While I brought up a man with an armful of wood, 
And young Katy was warmed, and declared it was 
good ! 

“Then the Mother so won deringly looked in my 
face; 

Such a frail little hand on the coverlet placed 
As her lips moved in blessing, I felt it was true, 

As I took down her story,— I’ll read it to you ! ’ 


LITTLE AMY. 


41 


“ They had no handsome things ; only dingy, old 
chairs ; 

No bright pictures nor games, like my son has up- 
stairs ; 

Their clothes were as poor as could possibly he, 

But their grateful young faces were pleasant to see. 

Though the rain is still pouring from clouds thick 
and gray, 

Will my little son stay in contented to-day ?” 

The boy lifts his head, and the hot flush of shame 

Flies over his face like a streak of red flame, 

As he says, “I am glad little Katy was fed! 

There will come a bright day to go out on my sled !” 


LITTLE AMY. 

S HE sat, dim Twilight in the room, 
A Mother young and fair; 

Bright pictures shone amid the gloom, 
And birds and flowers were there. 

A little bed of curious make, 

With daintiest covers spread; 

There dimpled, dreamy, half awake, 
With curly, tossing head, 


42 


LITTLE AMY. 


The little owner careless lay, 
Unconscious of the thought 

That moved its Mother’s heart to pray 
In words that breathed untaught. 

Two Summer’s bloom had lent its charm, 
And moulded into grace 

The little child that, safe from harm, 
Looked up into her face. 

With half-shut eyes the baby smiled, — 
Then rose the earnest prayer; 

“0, Father, take this darling child, 

And mould her ’neath Thy care. 

“ May tender words and generous deeds 
For every fault atone; 

And if I sow the precious seeds, 

All praise be Thine alone. 

“ Oh, grant that never act of mine 
May make the precept vain ; 

Send to my heart the light divine, 

To make Thy message plain. 

“Fill her young soul— a sacred well— 
With true, unselfish thought; 

That so each act of hers may tell 
What love of Thee hath wrought.” 


LITTLE AMY. 


42 


Daily beside her Mother’s knee, 

She prays with lisping tone; 

“ Father in Heaven ! take care of me, 

And keep me still Thine own. 

“ Teach me, to Father, Mother, Friend, 

My constant love to show; 

Thy Holy Spirit daily send, 

That I Thy Will may know. 

“Write on my heart, through every mood, 
This rule so grand and true: 

‘Do unto others as you would 
That they should do to you.” 


Midst scattered toys the little child 
Ran in her careless glee, 

Then stopped, and gazed, then softly smiled ; 
“Oh, Mother! come and see. 

“Upon the wall I see my prayer, 

Made beautiful and gay; 

And angel-children smiling there, 

Look down upon my play. 

“ They stretch their hands and look so bright, 
It seems as if they say: 

‘We never have your darker night* 

But only endless day ! 


44 


LITTLE AMY. 


“ 4 Come, little Amy, come, and walk 
Within this shining street;’ 

I think they hear me while I talk, 

They look so kind and sweet.” 

“Dear child, the angels sent from Heaven, 
Are always near to you, 

Whenever to your heart is given 
Some feeling good and true. 

“These angels sent from Heaven, my love, 
Are watching night and day : 

They see wherever you may move, 

They hear each word you say. 

“And when for some one in his need, 

A kindly act you do, 

Your little prayer with joy they read, 
And say, ‘ She lives it, too !’ ” 


A little maiden true and fair, 

It seemed some hidden charm 
Had kept her heart from every snare, 
Her life from outward harm. 

Still, as she grew in peace and love, 
With fervent, touching grace, 

In daily prayer young Amy knelt, 
With reverent, upturned face, 


THE DISOBEDIENT CHICKS. 


45 


And said, as in those tender years 
The prayer so early taught; 

Its spirit quelling selfish fears, 

And moulding every thought. 

Again, beside that little bed, 

The Mother bent, to say : 

“Dear Child, God heard the prayer I said; 
He hears you too, to-day !” 


THE DISOBEDIENT CHICKS. 

I N’ a farm-yard there lived an old hen and her 
chicks ; 

I counted the number ; I know there were six. 
Such dear, cunning things, and so downy and 
small ; 

Their hen-coop was sheltered close up by the wall, 
And such a nice big one to take a good run, 

If it rained, or they couldn’t go out in the sun ; 
And meal, and fresh water were there every day ; 
They had nothing to do but to eat, sleep, and play. 

Now, with so many blessings, these chicks ought 
to grow 

Into six feathered saints, — how I wish it were so. 


4(3 


THE DISOBEDIENT CHICKS. 


The four were as good as a hen could desire, 

They came when she called ; never got in the mire, 

But always looked neat if a neighbor should stop 

To talk, at the bars, of the weather or crop ; 

And when night came, they nestled close under 
her wings, 

And kept still as could be, — the meek little things. 

But the thought of the other two grieved the poor 
hen, 

And she wished they were back in their egg-shells 
again : 

Their ways were so naughty. They stood on their 
head; 

They soiled their down coats ; made believe to be 
dead; 

They teased their young brothers ; upset the nice 
meal ; 

And rumpled the hen from her head to her heel. 

Then the neighbors would come to complain of 
their pranks, 

And give— as their recipe — sundry good spanks. 

Poor thing, she tried kindness ; it didn’t succeed ; 

And punishment,— that was a failure indeed. 

One day the two naughty ones, strolling about, 

(Though their mother had told them they must 
not go out,) 


THE DISOBEDIENT CHICKS. 


47 


Saw coming a Turkey, so dirty and fat; 

One chick nudged the other, and said, “ Look at 
that.” 

“ Oh, you needn’t he proud,” said the Turkey; 
“ for me, 

I’ve been travelling all night to find what I could 
see; 

And the world is so large, I am quite out of breath ; 

Poor, weak little things, you’d he tired to death.” 

“ And is it so wonderful out of the yard?” 

Said one little chick: “I declare it’s too hard, 

That we should he penned in this mean, narrow 
place ;” 

Here he hit his toe-nail, and then made a grimace. 

“ To travel, my mother says, makes one refined ; 

It expands all the powers ; it enlarges the mind ; 

And gives such an appetite; makes one so strong; 

How here it’s so stupid ; the days are so long, 

And the pleasures you have are contemptibly few. 

While abroad there are many, exciting, and new.” 

So saying, he hurried away to be fed, 

Having dropped a new scheme in each little chick’s 
head. 

One glanced at the other, and whispered, “Let’s 
go.” 

The other looked frightened, but didn’t say no. 


48 


THE DISOBEDIENT CHICKS. 


That very same night, when the rest were all in, 
The two naughty chicks, — never caring a pin 
F or all their poor mother would suffer that night, 
From nervous sick-headache, produced by her 
fright, — 

Crept under the gate, and ran clear down the lane ; 
The old watch dog looked, blinking, and growled, 
“ They’re insane.” 


They went till they came to a very large tree : 

0, the moon has gone out ; it’s as dark as can 
be,” 

Said the timid one, trying to look through the 
shade : 

I wibh in the hen-coop with mother I’d stayed.” 

“FTow, such a weak coward I never did see ; 

You can t have the moon when you’re under a 
tree,” 

Said the other one: “There, we are out in the 
light; 

Which way shall we wander this beautiful night?” 

If I might advise you, my charming young 
dears,” 

Said a low, friendly voice, very close to their ears, 

“ I would say, go with me, for I’m used to be out, 

And I know every point to be seen on the route. 


THE DISOBEDIENT CHICKS. 


49 


If your mother were with you, I’d not interfere, 

But you need some adviser; no other seems 
near.” 

“0, thank you most kindly,” said each little 
chick, 

And the younger one added: “I'll get a small 
stick 

To aid me in walking; I’m not very strong.” 

“ 0, fudge !” said the other ; “ Come, hurry along.” 

“No! give a good spring, and jump up on my 
head; 

Take travelling quite easy,” the pleasant friend said. 

So he carried the chick with a bland, smiling 
face, 

Going slowly, to suit with the other one’s pace. 

“And what is your name?” said the one by his 
side. 

“Mr. Box,” said the other: “Pray, how do you 
ride 

So high on my head ?” “ It’s delightful up here.” 

“You had better ride double. Come, jump, my 
young dear.” 

So he trotted along with both chicks on his head, 

And they whispered together, “How kind, and 
well bred !” 

4 


50 


THE DISOBEDIENT CHICKS. 


Jle went, till he stopped at the end of a wall, 

That stood in the moonlight, and shadowed them 
all. 

“My house,” said the owner: “I hope you’ll stop 
in, 

And take a good bite ere your travels begin. 

I must first see my little ones safe off to bed.” 

The chicks were well pleased, and they nodded 
their head ; 

So he entered the hole, put a stone at the door, 

And the little chicks touched terra firma once 
more. 

There, up in a corner, their eyes very wide, 

Two jolly young foxes rolled, — one on each 
side. 

They didn’t get up when their father came in, 

But they showed their front teeth in an amiable 
grin. 

“ My dears, I have brought you two plump little 
chicks;” 

By way of an answer they gave two slight kicks. 

“ There is just one apiece, and I trust they are 
prime. 

How eat at your leisure; there’s plenty of time.” 

A terrible light on the chickens now broke. 

“ 0, pray, don’t be frightened, it’s only a joke. 


QUEEN DISCONTENT. 


51 


To think you should come to the house of a fox : 

If your mother should hear it you’ll get a good 
box. 

You’ll have so much to tell to the other small 
chicks.” 

. Here the foxes, impatient, gave two more slight 


kicks. 


“ Yes, darlings, eat slowly your nice little lunch, 
Like good, pretty foxes.” One horrible crunch, 
And both little chickens were lost to the sight 
In the very same second, that terrible night. 


QUEEN DISCONTENT. 


STATELY white palace, it rose on the air, 



JhL A palace of marble, with tapestries rare ; 
Bright streamers were flying, and music rose 
sweet, 

And fell like faint echoes the quick glancing feet, 
That danced under arches of marble and gold. 
Close by the grand palace a broad river rolled, 

As shining as silver ; where beautiful skiffs. 

By magic, would float to the opposite cliffs, 


52 


QUEEN DISCONTENT. 


Or stop at green islands where grottoes were 
made, 

To temper the sunlight with pleasanter shade. 

* Within the high walls there are pictures most rare, 

And cushions of damask; rich garments to wear; 

All viands most delicate ; pages to wait ; 

And guards to fling open the ponderous gate, 

When the owner of all, in her jewels and pride, 

Sweeps out with tall courtiers who ride at her side. 

There are children there, too; with no lessons; 
all ease ; 

They have only their own passing fancies to please. 

They may sing, dance, and play ; or may wan der 
at will ; 

Or sit in the grottoes, so shaded and still ; 

Or ride on gay horses, that speed like a flash, 

Yet are gentle as summer, to suit the most rash. 

They may pluck the ripe fruit from most beautiful 
trees, 

Where birds carol sweet to the answering breeze ; 

With no one to chide, and unlimited sway; 

Where else may one find such bright creatures as 
they? 

Ah ! but look at their faces. These trappings ; 
this show, 

Cannot hide the deep weariness seething below. 


QUEEN DISCONTENT. 


53 


Their eyes are so restless ; the roses of health 
Do not bloom on their cheeks. All this leisure 
and wealth 

Cannot wake up a smile, and no voices ring out 
Into sudden rejoicing. They wander about 
With listless, young faces, untrammelled in will, 
Where all is so lovely, but sullen and still. 

Ah ! a shadow hangs over the beautiful place, 

And broods, like dull nightmare, on every one’s 
face. 

From the Queen, with her gems, and great beauty 
and pride, 

To the little page, bending so low at her side, 

The same blighting shadow hangs over them all, 
And they never look glad when the little birds 
call, 

In the beautiful spring-time, from trees overhead, 
To their friends flying home, but look weary 
instead. 

In vain all the beauty of river and land ; 

The Queen, with one wave of her delicate hand, 
Seems to banish all joy from the thoughts of the 
rest; 

And she wears a rich jewel, that gleams on hei 
breast 

With a lustre so baleful, the clear light of day 
From her palace and gardens seems fading away. 


54 


QUEEN DISCONTENT. 


And the birds cease their song when she steps on 
the path 

Leading down through green trees to her beautiful 
bath ; 

And one bright little bird, peeping over his nest, 
Hears the sigh that she heaves, with her hand on 
her breast. 

From the tower, at the top of a high grassy mound, 
Her children may look on the country around, 

And see a small cottage, close by a great wood, 
■Where the trees, like tall sentinels, lovingly 
stood. 

Fresh roses and myrtle climb over the door; 

When the owner comes forth, the birds sing out 
the more. 

The flowers are more fragrant; the bright summer 
air 

Seems so balmy and cool when her shadow falls 
there ; 

And her children, how rosy ! Their laugh sweet 
and clear, 

Is music, indeed, to the listening ear. 

From the tower they see them, in calico frocks, 

Go out with their baskets, and climbing the rocks, 
Pass into the woods to pick berries. You see 
These children are busy, just like the small bee 


QUEEN DISCONTENT. 


55 


You read of in primers, but ready for fun, 

As you plainly may see, when their tasks are all 
done. 

Ah ! the smile of their Mother is lovely to see, 

As she plays at bo-peep with the child on her knee. 

She needs no rich jewels; her eyes are so bright, 

They seem overflowing with love, and with light ; 

And her voice is not sharp like the tone of the 
Queen ; 

It sounds like the brook gliding over the green, 

By the side of the wood, in its ripples and glee ; 

So a little one thinks, standing close to her knee. 

If they play on the green sward, and frolic, and 
sing, 

You feel that their mirth is a genuine thing. 

They never look cross ; and one yields to the rest, 

"When they think some particular play is the best. 

And they wait on each other ; no pages are there ; 

Yo jewels gleam out from their rich, wavy hair. 

They’ve no grottoes nor skiffs, but the song of the 
birds 

Rings a very sweet chime to their true, loving 
words ; 

And they run like the deer in the Queen’s neigh- 
boring park, 

And no shadow hangs o’er them, so baleful and 
dark. 


56 


QUEEN DISCONTENT. 


The children that gaze have an envying sneer, 
When the shout of the little ones falls on their ear. 
As they call to each other, and hide ’mid the rocks ; 
“Plebeians that wear such mean calico frocks,” 
Said the elder one, turning to go down the tower : 
“ The sight of them sickened me once for an hour ; 
I try hard to banish them out of my head, 

I hate so to hear them; I wish they were dead !” 

“I know they have something that we haven’t 
got; 

I dare say they have found a more beautiful spot 
Than any we know of,” the younger one said — 

“ How I wish that I lived in the cottage instead ! 
They eat with such relish the luncheon they take, 
When they run home from school ; and they keep 
wide awake, 

While I always am -sleepy from morning till 
night.” ^ 

Here she gave a low sob, in her anger and spite. 

Can you guess, little one, who the Mother may be, 
That played with the frolicsome child on her knee ; 
Who can never grow bitter, nor wrinkled, nor old ; 
Whose bright face is a study and joy to behold ? 
The Mother that drops such rich blessings on all, 
Though she owns no broad lands, and her cottage 
is small? 


ANNIE S TEMPTATION. 


57 


If you pray for her coming, she’ll speak to your 
heart, 

And teach you the holy and beautiful art, 

Her children had learned through their work and 
their play ; 

May you grow, little friend, as contented as they. 


ANNIE’S TEMPTATION. 

T EMPTATION" crept into the garden that day, 
And whispered, “Be silent! No word need 
you say, 

For nobody saw you ; your Aunt needn’t know 
Who trampled her flowers, uprooting them so. 

She will blame some one else. If you tell, she may 
scold ; 

And you know if her manner is angry or cold, 
You’ll be frightened. Then, really, you’re not 
much to blame ; 

Your Cousins would hide it precisely the same; 

So only be quiet; there’s nothing untrue 
In silence when no one is speaking to you !” 

Poor Annie ! she stood in the garden that day, 

The beautiful flower-bed all 'torn away; 


58 


ANNIE’S TEMPTATION. 


One rose-bush uprooted — disorder alone 

Marked the spot where the choicest pet-flowers had 
blown. 

The child stood bewildered, in secret despair; 

Only yesterday evening the flowers looked so fair, 

That she stopped at the sight in the midst of her 
P lay, 

Then unfastened the latch, and ran down the broad 
way 

That was bordered with box and with rose-bnshes, 
too ; 

Oh, such a sad change ! and now what should she 
do! 


She remembered too well who alone was to blame, 
And hung down her head in confusion and shame! 
She had run from the garden to see the ducks fed ; 
All thoughts of the gate driven out of her head ; 
And forgetting to latch it, some hungry young 
swine 

Had come in to root — perhaps hoping to dine. 

But one week ago, as she bid her good-bye, 

Her Mother had said, with a smile and a sigh,’ 
“My dear little daughter, whate’er you may hear, 
Speak out the plain truth without faltering or fear ! 
And if you are tempted, oh, think what I say, 

And God will direct you the true, honest wayY’ 


Annie’s temptation. 


59 


This rang in her ears as she stood there alone, - 
As white and as still as a statue of stone. 

Then slowly she turned, — if her lips breathed no 
prayer, 

God read her young heart, and He knew it was 
there ; 

And into the parlor she went with firm tread; 
The cunning temptation forever had fled. 

“Indeed, I’m so sorry, I’m ready to cry! 

I left the gate open — the pigs going by 
Ran into the garden ! The bed is all torn. 
When I saw it it made me so sick and forlorn, 

I thought I must hide it. Then a voice seemed to 
say: 

4 Ho ! I point you, my child, to the true, honest 
way.’ 

I know I was careless — deserving your blame — 
But God said I must tell you, so Auntie, I came.” 

She stood there, all trembling, expecting to hear 
The voice of a judge ringing sternly and clear; 
The flowers in the garden were always her pride, 
But now a strange tremor all sternness belied. 

44 Don’t think of the flowers, my darling,” she said, 

44 The thought of them never will enter my head. 
We will plant some together, to fill up the space 
The little pigs made in their wild, naughty race. 


60 


THE OLD BEAK. 


We will add some new seeds from the flowers near 
the door, 

And make it far prettier than ever before. 

When I walk there at Twilight, I’ll think, dear of 
you, 

And pray onr kind Father, so loving and true, 

To guard and to guide you, till smiling you stand, 
’Midst the lovelier flowers in His beautiful land !” 


THE OLD BEAR. 

T HERE was once an old Bear just as grim as 
could be, 

And he lived in a cave near an old hollow tree ; 
This last was quite large, and his summer resort, 
Where, in the mild weather, he held quite a court. 
He had really no wit in his stupid old head, 
But the rest thought him brilliant, and very well 
read, 

For he owned two large volumes, as thick as could 
be ; 

They knew not one letter — and neither did he. 

I wish you had seen him — to laugh in your sleeve : 
He was such an old sham — such a real make-be- 
lieve ! 


THE OLD BEAR. 


61 


There he sat with the spectacles over his nose, 
A very fine picture of learned repose. 

How he came by the specs we’ll not stop to inquire : 
He owned they were costly, the honest, old buyer ! 

One foot gently tapped on the moss-covered ground ; 
One paw rested over the scar of a wound, 

On the side of his head, which was nodding the while, 
And his face had not even the gleam of a smile. 
He sat just as prim as some people you see, 
And very much like them — between you and me ! 
So there in the cool, pleasant part of the day, 
He would give his advice, and the rest would obey. 

But don’t suppose wisdom for nothing they got ! 
He had many young bears ; to provide for the lot 
Was his mission on earth, now their Mother was 
dead; 

And he gave a deep sigh, or a shake of his head, 
When one that was said to resemble that saint, 
(She would fight to the death, with no sign of a 
faint,) 

Would bite his Pa’s leg, or snarl low at the rest; 
Of all his young Bears, the beloved and best! 

The animals came in great numbers to him ; 
The tree was so small that they couldn’t get in, 
But they stood at the door and did just as he said, 
If he told them to stand on their feet or their head ; 


62 


THE ENVIOUS ROSE. 


And good things in plenty he got for a fee — 
A better kept table you rarely would see. 

Such treats as they had at the back of the cave ! 
The favorite said it was needless to save, 

When their Father was rich, and could get what 
he pleased; 

Although he was old, and his lungs were diseased. 
For, earlier in life he had roughed it, you know, 
And near middle age he once slept in the snow, 
And took a had cold ; but his doctor had said 
That “mind would support life, with such a tine 
head,” 

And he proved it was true in that old, hollow tree, 
And grew pompous and fat as a Bear could well be ! 


THE ENVIOUS ROSE. 

W ITH fragrant roses, bright green leaves, 
Beside the hedge it grows, 

And many a drop of dew receives, 

At dawn and daylight’s close. 

The little birds hop, singing round; 

The chirping cricket came ; 

The loving breeze with soothing sound, 
Seemed breathing out her name; 


THE ENVIOUS ROSE. 


63 


There humming bees would often come 
Beneath the shady trees; 

The Bose, you think, in such a home, 
With visitors like these, 

Must he content. It was not so. 

The foolish little tree 
In some gay garden longed to grow; 

Prey to her vanity! 

Within her sight, beyond the wall, 

A gaudy sunflower grows ; 

’Midst fragrant flowers, above them all, 

Its yellow petals rose. 

“I wish, among the other flowers, 

My happier lot was thrown!” 

Still sighed the Bose — one thought that sours 
All joys that bless her own. 

“Here in this lonely spot long pent, 

My beauty is in vain !” 

Thus in a foolish discontent, 

I heard the Bose complain. 


There came a sudden storm one night. 
The blast swept through the trees ; 
When Morning dawns a novel sight 
The trembling Bose-bush sees. 


64 


THE ENVIOUS KOSE. 


A drenching rain is falling still; 

Tall trees uprooted lie; 

Dark clouds that hang above the hill 
Like angry ghosts go by ; 

And ruin marks the scene around, 

The little Rose-tree knew; 

Torn leaves and branches strew the ground, 
Where once soft zephyrs blew. 

The Rose, beside the friendly hedge, 
Protected through the night, 

Looks towards the garden’s farthest edge, 
To see the Sunflower bright. 

A headless stalk alone she sees, 

All broken, bent, and bare; 

The Sunflower flaunting in the breeze, 

No longer rises there ! 

With shame for all her discontent, 

The Rose-tree hung its head; 

“ I read the lesson that was meant !” 

At length she humbly said. 


THE VERY VAIN CHILD. 


65 


THE YEEY TAIN CHILD. 

S HE was such a vain child ! How, I’ve frequently 
heard 

Of folks here and there who have spoken a word 
That showed they admired their own darling self; 
But any like this one — the vain little elf — 

I never have heard of! At home or at school 
She thought of her beauty, and made it a rule 
To stand by herself at the pier-glass each day, 
There to practice fine graces, while nurse was away. 

She was just ten years old — with bright eyes, to he 
, sure, 

But her pertness and mincing I could not endure. 

If she only had walked like a free, happy child, 
And forgotten that people looked on when she 
smiled ; 

If she gently had raised those large eyes to my face, 
In the charm of a loving and innocent grace, 

I’d have said to myself, “ What a. dear little thing! 
She touches my heart like the breathing of Spring ! 
There’s nothing that I could refuse her to do, 
From relating a story to tying her shoe. 

I would feel more than paid if she gave me a kiss 
But you see there’s some difference ’twixt that one 
and this. 

5 


66 


THE VERY VAIN CHILD. 


Just near her there lived such a dear little girl \ 

© 

Her hair, rather short, had forgotten to curl, 
And her nose was no model ; her mouth was not 
small ; 

She had really fine eyes; I believe that is all 
I can say for her beauty, but blooming with health ! 
A very desirable sort of a wealth. 

Then her ways were so real ! If she felt it, she 
smiled ; 

If she didn’t, looked serious — the fresh-hearted 
child ! 

If she put her soft hand in the palm of my own, 
And told some small secret in musical tone ; 

Or if in the square she was running at play, 

Ho thought of beholders to get in her way; 

Or if she was laughing with hearty good will; 
Or if she was thinking and sitting so still, 

I loved her through all, and will think, to the end, 
The same loving thoughts of my dear little friend. 

If the other one happened to spoil a new dress, 
She looked quite overcome in her sobbing distress. 
But my happier young friend was not troubled, 
you see, 

For her frocks were as plain as a child’s well could 
be; 

And she felt she could run with a careless good will, 
And her clothes be as safe as if perched up quite 
still. 


THE TWO FRIENDS. 


67 


Then if a small child was in trouble, she’d run, 
Entirely forgetting her own little fun, 

To help it, and drive hack the fast coming tear, 
By whispering some funny thing close to its ear, 
To bring back the laugh ! If an artist had passed, 
He’d have said, “ Here’s the picture I’ve looked foi 
at last!” 

Yes, then she was beautiful ! Painters can see 
What to put in their pictures for you and for me ! 


THE TWO FRIENDS. 

66 T WANT to tell you something strange ! 
J- I’m sure I cannot see 
Why Mary Grey should ever change 
The way she has to me. 

“Why, Mother, when we used to play 
Down by those shaded rocks, 

I always liked to do her way, 

And gave her Dolly’s frocks. 

“Because she couldn’t sew as fast; 

And when we climbed for flowers, 

I freshened hers that they might last 
As long as those of ours 


68 


THE TWO FKIENDS. 


“I saw you fix; I loved her so, 

It seemed the easiest way. 

I followed when she wished to go; 

Sat still if she would stay, 

“ She used to call me 4 Little Pet/ 
Though I was tall as she; 

But now I never can forget 
The way she acts to me! 

“Bor ever since we’ve gone to school, 
And always in the class, 

Her face no more is beautiful, 

If I should chance to pass. 

“She frowns, and says some cutting word 
At any little praise 
My teacher drops that she has heard; 

I fairly hate her ways ! 

“And when the other girls with me 
Are playing on the green, 

She tries to make us disagree, 

And calls me pert and mean. 

u She frightened me when yesterday 
I met her in the lane, 

She looked so cross.; in just that waj 
That makes her hard and plain ! 


THE TWO FRIENDS. 


“ She says she hates to hear me speak, 
I try to stand so high; 

She teased me all this live-long week, 
And fairly made me cry. 

“I bore it, Mother, for I said, 

‘Perhaps she soon will see 
These new, odd notions in her head 
Are most nnjust to me !’ 

“I tried to still he very kind, 

But nothing seems to do. 

She hid my missing book, I find, 

And broke my pen in two. 

“ So now I see it’s all in vain ; 

She only says the more, 

And tries her best to give me pain, 
Worse than she did before. 

“Now, Mother, darling, won’t you say, 

4 My dear, it’s very true, 

There really^ seems no other way — 
Treat her as she treats you !’ ” 

“Not so, my own, dear little girl,” 

The list’ning Mother said, 

Still smoothing many a glossy curl 
That clustered round her head. 


70 


THE TWO FRIENDS. 


“I love you far too well to say, 

'Give bitter ill for ill;’ 

So follow in the blessed way 
Of Hope and Patience still. 

“ You know the story that we read, 
Of One who long ago 

Prayed in His lonely, dying need, 
For those who wronged Him so. 

“When you are tempted, hasty one, 
To angry, loud reply, 

Think, dear, of Him, the Holy Son, 
Let malice pass you by, 

“And kindly pity take its place, 
Towards one so plainly wrong. 

So will my now impulsive Grace 
Grow calm, and true, and strong. 

“ Think of the hell within her heart, 
While you, more blest, are free 

To follow the diviner part 
Of patient Charity !” 


THE YOUNG SOLDIER. 


71 


THE YOUNG SOLDIER. 

S HE stood in the little room, furnished with 
skill, 

Its owner now gone, it was shaded and still ; 

In that silence she never had noticed before, 
When she ran in the morning to knock at the 
door, 

And rouse her young brother to breakfast betimes, 
In those days he was lazy, — the worst of his crimes. 

She looked at the table where lesson books lay 
So carelessly, just as he tossed them away, 

When the thought in his heart spoke out louder 
than books, 

And new power flamed into his speech and his 
looks. 

That odd little picture, the pride of his heart, 

He so proudly had bought in defiance of art ! 
Among those more beautiful still it was hung ; 

Ah ! whisper it kindly ; the boy was so young. 

There, over the mantle, a rusty old sword ; 

Most precious, since deep in its handle was scored 
The name of the owner, so noble and true, 

Who served his dear Country, and died for it, too. 


72 


THE YOUNG SOLDIER. 


And under it, lost in a medley array, 

Two crucibles stood, where, in hours fled away, 

He had melted, and worked, as a boy only can ; 
War tested his soul : lo, he springs forth a man ! 

The fire of the conflict for toys of his youth ; 

Deep thoughts of his Country ; strong love for the 
Truth ; 

Warm thoughts for the dear ones who breathe a 
quick prayer, 

When the rumor of battle is borne on the air ; 
These mould his young manhood, and strengthen 
his will. 

God rules ! waiting heart, let repining be still ! 


She stood, till the glow of that beautiful face 
Seemed to light up the gloom of the desolate 
place ; 

And again it was cheerful; made pleasant and 
fair, 

In the light of his spirit still lingering there. 


THE GRATEFUL BIRD. 


73 


THE GRATEFUL BIRD. 

T WO boys went ont nutting. The bright, plea- 
sant air 

Swept through the tall trees that were leafless and 
bare, 

As they turned from the road, and went into the 
wood, 

Where grew those large chestnuts, so sweet and 
so good. 

With their bags in their hands, they went at a 
brisk run, 

Their faces aglow in the light of the sun. 

As they entered the path, they both heard a sharp 
sound, 

And giving a start, both the children looked 
round, 

And saw in a clearing, quite close to the wood, 
Two men with their guns, as expectant they stood. 

Just then, on the dry leaves, so crisp to the tread, 
A little bird dropped; the boys thought it was 
, dead ; 

But stooping, one touched it, it fluttered a wing, 
And he picked up, quite gently, the beautiful 
thing. 


74 


THE GRATEFUL BIRD. 


It was scarlet all over; a tuft on its head; 

It once carolled in gladness ; now silence, instead, 

Said plainly, there needed no answer in words, 

It had met some dark foe to the sweet singing 
birds. 

One wing lay quite helpless ; a bright drop of blood 

Fell down on the leaves where the little boys 
stood. 

One said, looking down on the poor, fluttering 
thing, 

As it slowly turned over, uplifting one wing, 

“ You had best wring its neck, for I know it will 
die.” 

But the other one paused, and he made no reply. 

“It will be in our way; and we came to have 
fun.” 

Then he glanced quite impatiently up towards the 
sun. 

“ Ho ; I’ll take it to Carrie. It isn’t dead yet ; 

I heard her so wishing to have a nice pet ; 

And this bird is so pretty ; I’ll make it a bed, 

Till I take it to her to be tended and fed.” 

So he gathered some leaves, and put stones all 
around, 

Then the poor little warbler was laid on the 
ground. 


THE GRATEFUL BIRD. 


75 


Then they went till they reached a large, well- 
laden tree, 

Where they picked for an hour, as pleased as 
could he ; 

Then they shouldered their hag, and one stopped 
for the bird, 

Which seemed somewhat revived, for faint chirp- 
ings were heard. 

As they stopped at the farm-yard, a little girl came 

To meet them : “ 0, hoys ! what a terrible shame ! 

Who hurt it, poor thing? Will you give it to me? 

Do you think it will live ? What a beauty to see !” 

“Here it is,” said her brother; the kind little face 

Looked quite lovely with interest, and merciful 
grace, 

As her kisses fell soft on the poor little bird ; 

Which was grateful, I know, though it said not a 
word. 

So she doctored it up, and the wound was soon 
healed, 

Though the little hoy thought its death-sentence 
was sealed ; 

And it grew tame and merry, — she loved it, you 
know, — 

This the bird seemed to guess, though it couldn’l 
say so. 


76 


THE GRATEFUL BIRD. 


All the winter she kept it, and fed it with care. 

On a sunshiny day, if you chanced to look there, 
You would see in the morning, hung under the 
shed, 

The little bird tossing the tuft on its head ; 

And singing so sweetly ; then, always at night, 

It was warm in the house, in its cage large and 
tight. 

Winter passed ; Spring-time came with its fresh, 
balmy breeze ; 

Leaves blossomed, and silently covered the trees 
That stood in the sunlight, so dreary and grey, 
When the two boys went nutting that clear, frosty 
day; 

Little birds coming back, sang a wonderful tune, 
And they all seemed delighted, as if it were June. 

Then the little girl said, “ 0, my own darling bird, 
I know the sweet call of your friends you have 
heard ; 

You listen, and hold up your dear little head ; 

Well, now you’ve been cared for, and tenderly fed; 
But you want to go back to the beautiful trees ; 
You are weary of small, prosy comforts like these. 
You wish to live up in a beautiful nest, 

And fly where you please; I suppose you know 
best. 


THE GRATEFUL BIRD. 


Yes, go, little bird ! but have prudence and care, 

For the cruel bird-killers may chance to come there ; 

And you know what they are, for you’ve met 
them before 

Here the little girl climbed up and opened the door: 

“Fly out, little darling!” she said, with a sigh, 

“I wouldn’t detain you ; now sing a good-bye.” 

The bird seemed delighted, and perched on her 
head, 

Though she thought he would fly to the tree-top 
instead. 

Then she kissed him, and said, “ You are grateful, 
I know ; 

But your friends call again ; I suppose you must 
go.” 

And the little bird flew from her head to her hand, 

As if her kind words he could quite understand. 

Then he flew to the top of a beautiful tree, 

Where his friends were all waiting, as gay as could 
be ; 

And he sang a sweet song as a grateful farewell ; 

I am sure he meant more than his warbling could 
tell. 

Then the birds, the same instant, all fluttered away, 

To seek out their old homes in the sweet month 
of May. 


78 


THE EMPTY HOUSE. 


THE EMPTY HOUSE. 


G REY, narrow, and chill, with its roof moss- 
grown, 

Shutters half hingeless, and creaking door, 
Where the wind creeps in with a stifled moan, 
Starting thick dust from the dingy floor, — 


Mocked in the water, sunlighted and clear, 
Gliding o’er rushes deep, fringing its bank ; 

A shade of the Past, in its loneliness drear, 

Stands that silent house, in the morn-dews dank. 


The grass, long untrodden by human foot, 

Rises tall and rank in the silent lane, 

And the grim, old poplars, with rain-bleached roots, 
Will never be covered with green again. 

Three children, their satchels carelessly swung, 

In the fresh’ning sunlight of Youth and of Morn, 
Sit on the fence, and one eager tongue 

Tells the curse that blighted ere they were born. 

How one, with a soft voice, but cruel and cold, 
Lived where bright roses their odors then threw ; 
How he struck dead the friend who had lent him 
his gold, 

And hid his dark burden where pond-lilies grew. 


THE EMPTY HOUSE. 


79 


The child of the farmer who tilled the land, 
Crossing the stile, in the morning grey, 

Shrank from the touch of his proffered hand, 

As frowning, and trembling, he strode away. 

With her pail in her hand, long she stood in the 
lane, 

Wondering, and watching the path he trod ; 
Twice o’er his shoulder he looked again, 

As his feet pressed more quickly the dewy sod. 

She tells how he fled to a foreign land, 

Where skies were more beautiful, flowers more 
fair; 

Years brought him grey hairs, and a trembling 
hand, 

And a soul, whose tenant was wild despair. 

“ And still, when yon village bell strikes one, 

The rushes part with a strange, low sound;” — 
The children turn pale in the morning sun, 

And, with startled eyes, at the reeds glance 
round. 

’Tis only a waterfowl’s rustling wing 

Wakens the echoes that slept once more, 

And the children turn from the startled thing, 
And the gleam on the dreary House is o’er. 


80 


forbear. 


FORBEAR. 

/"WE little word so beautiful, 

^ Like blessing on tbe air; 

I give it as a sacred rule— 

Tbe little word Forbear! 

When angry glance or word unkind 
.Kindles your heart to flame 
Say quickly in your inmost mind, 

“ Shall I then do the same?” 

Forbear! the blessed reign of Peace 
You help to usher in, 

When words of angry passion cease, 

And generous thoughts begin. 

If by strange malice blindly driven, 

Some injury is done, 

Say, “ Help me, Father up in Heaven ! 

To imitate Thy Son.” 

He prayed when angry men reviled 
-For all, but most for those 
Who wronged him deepest ; thus, dear child, 
He acted towards His foes. 


GEORGE AND HIS CANARY. 


81 


Still in your tasks or daily play, 
His spirit you may show, 

And walk in faith the blessed way, 
He trod so long ago ! 


GEORGE AND HIS CANARY. 

L ITTLE George had a bird that would sing clear 
and sweet, 

And seed and fresh chickweed he gave it to eat. 
There was nothing too good for the dear little thing ; 
Had it spoken, and asked for a pretty gold ring 
To wear on one claw — or a cap for its head — 

Or a knife and a fork — or a dear little bed 
To put its head into instead of its wing — 

Little George would have said, “You shall have 
every thing 

That you want, my dear bird ! — you have only to 
say 

What you like ! Shall I order your dinner to-day ?” 

The bird couldn’t speak, hut he sang every day ; 
His owner sat under him deep in his play, 

But stopped very often to glance up above, 

To show his dear pet his approval and love. 


82 


GEORGE AND HIS CANARY. 


Sometimes he would give it a nice piece of cake 
For its dessert, and often would sugar lumps take 
Away from the table, to give it to eat; 

One cause, I suppose, that its song was so sweet. 

If a friend came to play, George would take him 
to see 

How attractive his little Canary could be ; 

And young Dick would hop round, as if trying to 
say, 

“ I’m quite glad to see you !— A very fine day !” 

Or out of the cage like a flash he would fly, 

If he opened the door, and his bright little eye 
Would single out George; then it perched on his 
head, 

Or sometimes it would fly on his finger instead, 
And would sing loud and clear, so each sweet, ring- 
ing note, 

Seemed to come from a concert-hall deep in his 
throat ! 

Each night a kind Aunt of young George went up- 
stairs 

To the nursery, before even saying her prayers. 

To be sure the Canary was safe for the night 
In its cage, and the door closed, and fastened quite 
tight. 

But one night she forgot to quite fasten the door 
Though she ne’er had omitted her kindness before. 


GEORGE AND HIS CANARY. 


83 


She saw him so plain on his perch as he stirred, 
But ah, never again did she see the dear bird ! 

You must know, in the house that there lived a big 
cat, 

A terrible foe to a mouse or a rat; 

And it grieves me to tell it — so fond of a bird — 

It would swallow one down ere you’d speak half a 
word. 

This night, as it chanced, she was prowling around ; 
Creeping into the room, there the cage door she 
found 

Was quite on a crack ; it flew wide ’neath her claw, 
And the dear little bird in its sound sleep she saw, 
Unconscious of danger ! Ho time she let slip, 

But crushed the poor bird with one terrible grip ! 
A bright yellow feather flew out from its side, 

And showed how the dear little innocent died ! 

Poor George ! in his heart he felt something was 
wrong, 

When he missed the glad notes of the bird’s morn- 
ing song. 

So he climbed to the cage, and he knew its sad fate ! 
Poor Dicky ! its owner had come in too late 
To save its dear life ! How he sobbed and he 
cried, 

As if now every joy to his life were denied. 


84 


GEORGE AND HIS CANARY. 


As he sat in despair, looking up at the cage. 

He jumped up indignant, o’erflowing with rage, 
Against the big cat that had killed his dear bird ; 
And seizing a stick, without saying a word, 

He ran through the entry, where ’sconced on a mat, 
And taking her comfort, the murderess sat. 


Puss ran for her life when she noticed his look, 

And the stick, that still sobbing, he wrathfully 
shook, 

And she scampered up-stairs at a wonderful pace ; 

Her legs were much swifter at running a race ; 

But George followed, and when ’neath a table she 
flew, 

He poked — and the racing began then anew. 

I’m afraid that he gave her some pretty hard 
knocks, 

Before she could hide in an old wooden box, 

Far back in the garret, where he could not creep, 

There she quietly nestled to have a good sleep ; 

Untroubled by nightmare, for what she had done, 

While she laughed to herself at the race she had 
won ! 


THE OLD TABLE. 


85 


THE OLD TABLE. 

A SOLID old Table, but shabby and grey, 
Cook said that it really seemed quite in the 
way ! 

She wanted a newer to stand in its place, 

To give to her kitchen an air and a grace. 

And, Thomas, the coachman, with humorous stare, 
Said, “ Impudence, sure, for the thing to be there !” 

The chairs, rather newer, said they were ashamed, 
And fairly must creak if the table were named. 
They liked, for their own part, all things to agree ; 
A meaner old table they never did see. 

The plates on the dresser took up the same cry, 
And clattered derision so constant and high, 

A nervous glass bottle in cupboard above, 

Said headache would really compel him to move, 
Unless they abated their sarcasm and noise, 
Confining their plateships to quieter joys. 

Clothes-horse in the corner harped on the same 
string, 

And said he was tired of the shabby old thing ! 


86 


THE OLD TABLE. 


He liked in a neighbor both beauty and use ; — 
The Table bent under their load of abuse ! 

Cook carried her point, and a new one was got, 
The smallest and showiest one out of a lot; 

"With legs that were twisted remarkably small, 

It seemed a mere chance it had any at all ; 

“It showed like a mirror,” with varnish so bright, 
Cook said in her statement undoubtedly right. 

The shabby old table, though strong as a horse, 
Stood off by itself in a corner, of course ; 

With nothing to do and with nothing to say, 
There to keep itself quietly out of the way. 

Its rival now held a conspicuous place; 

The kitchen was charmed with its polish and grace. 

Alas for its triumph ! A servant one day 
Came in a great hurry, when Cook was away, 
And out of two baskets the marketing poured, 
Till the leaf of the poor little table was stored. 

One creak, that seemed like a petition to save — 
One quick, awkward wrench the weak table then 
gave — 

One groan in that kitchen heard never before — 
One lurch, and its contents rolled down on the 
floor ! 


THE OLD TABLE. 


87 


Potatoes rolled this way — the meat it rolled that ; — 
One melon was crushed so remarkably flat 
By the leg crashing through it, — it lay there as neat 
As if spread for some dainty young piggy to eat. 
The coachman said, “ Steam-power was left in the 
shade ; 

A smarter young table sure never was made.” 


The vain little table, oh, what a sad sight ! 

All crooked, — one leg broke — deplorable plight ! 
And the worst of the case, and the hardest to bear, 
The once flattering neighbors seemed never to care. 
Indeed, one great dish fairly cracked with its fun ; 
It was plain the short reign of the table was done. 


The one breath of pity that swept o’er the crash, 
When melon was put in that terrible mash, 
Creaked out from Old Table — a bit of a saint, 
Though never rejoicing in polish or paint. 

Then he added, (you surely can pardon his thought,) 
“ Poor thing ! it would carry more weight than it 
ought ! 

I know I am old, somewhat creaking and plain, 
But I guess they’ll find use for this Table again !” 


88 


FRESH FLOWERS. 


FRESH FLOWERS. 

A LITTLE girl with earnest look, 
Han ’midst the garden flowers; 
"With eager hands the buds she took, 
All wet with Summer showers. 

A boy pulled at the apron wide, 

That held her blooming store; 

“ Come, throw those tiny things away ; 
I’ll help to pluck some more. 

“ Mamma would like the bigger kind 
She hardly ever sees; 

You always leave them here behind; 
Why don’t you gather these?” 

He broke a Sunflower from its stalk, 
Above his glossy head ; 

“I look at this kind when I walk; 
Take some of these instead.” 

“But, Eddy, Mother likes the kind ■ 
That smell so fresh and sweet; 

So, little brother, never mind; 

Stand down upon your feet. 


FRESH FLOWERS. 


89 


“ We’ll go arrange the flowers now, 

For poor Mamma to see; 

And then I’ll tell her, darling, how 
You helped to fix with me.” 

The child ran in with eager pace, 

Then quietly he stood 

And handed flowers, and watched that face 
So beautiful and good. 

“Now, pet, go have a pleasant run. 

I’ll throw these stalks away ; 

Go find the boys, and take some fun, 

This clear, delightful day!” 

The hoy ran out, as on the stair 
A step fell soft and slow, 

And entered soon the Mother fair, 

Whose children loved her so. 

Her little daughter drew a chair 
With softest cushions spread; 

“Come, Mother, breathe this balmy air!” 
Most tenderly she said. 

Then close beside her Mother’s knee 
Her little chair she brought ; 

You saw that love most true and free, 
Had made them one in thought. 


90 


FRESH FLOWERS. 


“All is so lovely, dear,” she said; 

I look upon the flowers, 

And bless the Giver who has made 
These fair creations ours, 

“And given such willing little hands 
To meet my slightest needs ; 

And thus I know in holier lands 
He sows more precious seeds, 

“And gathers all in love at last, 

Within His gardens fair; 

When Autumn comes with searching blast, 
Dear child, I may he there ! 

“ Lift up your face ! no bitter tears, 

My little one, be shed 
For one who feels no timid fears; 

Listen to me instead. 

“When in the quiet room above, 

You see a figure pale, 

That clasped you once in tenderest love, 
Let not your young heart fail; 

“Hor think the Father of us all 
Hath dealt too hard a blow. 

He sees the little sparrow fall ; 

He makes these blossoms blow; 


FRESH FLOWERS. 


91 


“ And to His children sorrowing here, 

As o’er those in the skies, 

His tender blessing, ever near, 

Bids living Trust arise. 

“Ho King upon a distant throne, 

This Father kind and true; 

You cannot ever be alone; 

He always watches you. 

“ A voice within your heart will say, 

She only went before; 

A little space you two will stay, 

Then all will meet once more ! 

I 

“ This love of mine will never die, 
Wherever I may he. 

Ho mourning robe, no heavy sigh, 

My little girl, for me. 

But plant to wave upon the wind 
Above my silent dust, 

The fairest flowers your hands can find, 
To breathe of Hope and Trust!” 


Chill Autumn came ; the garden walks 
Are strewed with yellow stores 
Of rustling leaves, and withered stalks 
Waved round the close-shut doors. 


92 


FEESH FLOWERS. 


Within the room where two once sate, 
And breathed the Summer air, 

Till twilight shadows round them wait, 
Two children nestle there 

The elder has the tender smile 
Her Mother’s face had worn, 

When so unselfish all the while 
Diviner life was born. 

And gazing in those brimming eyes 
Uplifted to her own, 

In that young heart new thoughts arise, 
And in the loving tone, 

She caught from lips that always spoke 
To kindle hope and joy, 

A tender meaning slowly broke 
Upon the wondering boy. 

“ She isn’t dead? — and can she hear 
Whatever I may say! 

I heard a whisper at my ear, 

This morning in my play; 

“I guess she told me not to frown, 

When Walter made me miss. 

I kept the ugly feeling down; 

Does she see things like this? 


FRESH FLOWERS. 


03 


“ Oh, now I know why every day 
You pick these gay, fresh flowers, 

And fix them in the same old way; 

I thought them only ours. 

“I looked upon her chair to-day, 

And felt so very sad ! 

But if she’s happy far away, 

I’ll try to feel more glad; 

“And be to every one I know 
As kind as I can be : 

And then, when into Heaven I go, 
She’ll kiss and welcome me.” 

The shadows stole as once they fell, 
Though on a vacant chair; 

But with the children all was well, — 
Faith, Hope, and Love were there! 

Oh, doubt not on that tender sight 
A loving Mother gazed, 

Though into realms of changeless light 
Her human soul was raised. 


94 


THE CONCEITED FOWL. 


THE CONCEITED FOWL. 

T HERE was once a young Chicken, so very 
absurd, 

That he tossed up his head when a beautiful bird 
Flew over the yard ; then would rustle his wing, 
And say, “ Does that fellow suppose he can sing ! 
My voice, if brought out in some musical school, 
I’m sure would be finer. He don’t sing by rule ; 
And as for his feathers, it’s only the sun 
Makes them shine so. I know when the daylight 
is done, 

He’s as ugly as sin. I’m quite handsome, I know; 
And all chickens will say so, the older I grow. 

My feathers are greyish, and each one the shade 
Of the other. Then all are as evenly laid 
As if they’d been placed by some cunning machine ; 
While his feathers are mixed, and not fit to be 
seen.” 

Now, outside the wall was a very large pond, 
Where the ducklings, of water excessively fond, 
Strayed out very often to have a good swim. 

There, quite as regardless of grace as of limb, 
They threw up the water in many a prank, 

And then they would rest on the low, muddy 
bank, 


THE CONCEITED FOWL. 


95 


Sitting up in the sun. There they clacked just as 
loud 

As a speaker I heard once, addressing a crowd. 

One day this young Chicken, so full of conceit, 
Whilst spying about for some luncheon to eat, 
Discovered, with rapture, a hole in the wall, 
Where he squeezed himself through, for the 
Chicken was small ; 

And he thought, “ I dare say I may see something 
fine 

To tell to the rest when we all meet to dine ; 

And I talk so delightfully ! What a great treat ; 
They will relish it more than the food that they 
eat.” 

Then he smoothed down his feathers, and walked 
to the hank, 

Thence down to the pond, where he leisurely 
drank. 

“ How cool and refreshing it looks over there ; 

It must- he so pleasant; I really declare, 

I think I may venture to take a small swim, 
Without any danger to life or to limb. 

I know that the ducks go in twice every day, 

And it’s such a good chance, while they all are away, 
To take my first lesson ; I know I can learn ; 

IIow surprised they will he if they chance to 
return. 


96 


KING WILL. 


My talents are great, and my will is quite strong; 
Yes, I really will try it; I’ll not stay in long. 

To get a good impetus first, for a start,” — 

So he perched on the side of an old broken cart, 
Quite close to the bank, with a slant towards the 
left; 

Then this silly young Chicken, of instinct bereft, 
Flew off, with a terrible rush down the bank, 
Straight into the water, and instantly sank ! 


KING WILL. 

“ T THINK I’d like to he a king,” 

J- Said little Will, one day; 

He threw aside the loosened string, 
That twirled his top away. 

And turned with such a serious look, 
His Father smiled, and said: 

“I know you rarely read a hook; 

How came that in your head? 

“It seems to me a curious thing; 

Our own dear Land is free; 

Now tell me just the kind of king 
My son would wish to be.” 


KING WILL. 


97 


“I’d have a palace, rare and high, 
With guards in clothes so grand; 
That never stopped to question why, 
But did my least command. 

“My throne should be of gold and red, 
With bright silk curtains high; 

I’d wear a crown upon my head, 

To dazzle every eye. 

“And there I’d sit, in times of peace; 
If any daring foe 
Should try my power to decrease, 

I’d lay the rascal low. 

“I’d have a train of courtiers tall, 
When I went out to ride, 

To win a race, or leap a wall, — 

Go pacing by my side. 

“ 0 ! it would be such jolly fun, 

To make them wait on me; 

There, that is all; I think I’ve done; 
A king like this I’d be !” 

“I, too, would wish to he a king,” 

His Father slowly said; 

“But not to grace some glitt’ring ring, 
With jewels round my head. 

7 


98 


KING WILL. 


“And not in careless pomp to ride, 

While grim and weary men 

Breathed curses through my kingdom wide, 
Then looked, and cursed again. 

“No splendid palace would I rear; 

No courtiers would I own; 

To whisper flatt’ries in my ear, 

And drown the poor man’s groan. 

“No soldiers for the battle-field, 

That I might rule in state; 

No cannon’s peal, nor helm, nor shield; 

No horses at my gate ; 

“Yet I would be the glorious king, 

That you, my son, may be; 

To fight and conquer every thing, 

So all your power may see. 

“I would be one whose crown is made 
Of virtues, rare and bright; 

That glow the same in sun or shade, 

In their celestial light. 

v 

“A king, who holds in deepest scorn 
All mean and selfish pride; 

To whom all stricken ones who mourn, 
Walk equals by his side. 


KING WILL. 


99 


“Who says to Passion, ‘Stand aside; 
Thou art my deadliest foe: 

With devils art thou still allied, 

Though all should answer no !’ 

“A king, who lets the idle speech 
Of flatterers pass him by, 

And dwells above their utmost reach, 

In aims made pure and high. 

“A king, whose palace is a heart 
That takes the whole world in; 

True thoughts and tender make his court ; 
God’s poor may enter in. 

“A king, who makes the outcast’s wrong, 
In very deed, his own; 

So truly rich, so brave, so strong, 

God shields him on his throne. 

“A king like this, — a noble king, — 

I pray my son may be; 

To bless the land whence still shall spring 
The grandest Liberty!” 


100 


THE OLD MAGPIE. 


THE OLD MAGPIE. 

S UCH a beautiful grove, where the trees grand 
and high, 

Seemed ladders of greenery to climb to the sky ; 
And beneath them were flowers so sweet and so 
rare, 

The bees lingered long, if they chanced to stop 
there ; 

And the gravel walks shone in the light of the sun, 
Where dear little children would frequently run ; 
And they glanced at the trees, looking up from 
their play, 

Imagining the warblers were happy as they. 

There were dozens of birds in the trees overhead, 
And at first, in no stories I ever have read, 

Was more friendship and love shown. If some 
nestling died, 

It was really affecting to see how they cried ; 

And when a young family broke through the shell, 
Their odd, fussy visits were funny to tell. 

There was such a variety. Some were so plain ; 
Drab color all over, without speck or stain ; 

And others, with plumage so shining and gay, 
That they dazzled your eyes as they fluttered away. 


THE OLD MAGPIE. 


101 


And their characters varied in equal degree. 

There were some very talkative, witty, and free ; 

"While others were shy, and could never speak out, 

What in their small heads they were thinking 
about, 

While they silently gazed at the beautiful trees 

That shone in the sunlight, and swayed in the 
breeze ; 

And some perter ones whispered, they “ never 
could see 

Any fun in thus staring straight into a tree !” 


Among those I mentioned as being so shy, 

And looking so long at the trees and the sky, 

Was a dear little poet, blow, children, don’t 
smile, 

And suppose I am telling you fibs all the while ! 

I am sure, by his manner, — that glance of his 
eye, — 

That he wrote lovely verses when no one was by. 

And I really do think he had some little place, 

That he furnished himself with both cheapness and 
grace, 

Where he wrote very fast, with a twig for a pen ; 

And very much better than tall, silly men 

I know of, that haven’t his sweet, modest grace : 

He wouldn’t come flaunting his rhymes in your 
face ! 


102 


THE OLD MAGPIE. 


There was one all the rest thought a very great 
wit; 

One little bird laughed himself into a tit 
At such funny rejoinders ; and down he fell 
plump 

Into some stranger’s nest ! flow he made them 
all jump ! 

Then one w T as a traveller, who, once every year, 
Flew his thousands of miles. It was not very 
clear 

Where he really had been ; but such hair-breadth 
escapes, 

As the ship sharply rounded invisible capes ; 

And when quite rejoicing, he took to his wings, 
He saw such unheard of, improbable things, 

That one day, a young skeptic, that perched on 
the tree, 

The rest all attentive, as list’ners could be, 

Said, “ What a remarkably curious lie !” 

But the rest quite subdued him by chirping “ 0, 
fie!” 

Then one was a genius, — at least so he said, — 

And he prided himself on the shape of his head. 
He really did nothing but nothing at all, 

While he thought all the powers of the rest very 
small ; 


THE OLD MAGPIE. 


103 


Then his voice was quite cracked, tho’ he thought 
he could sing, 

Which really did seem a ridiculous thing ; 

But they very good-naturedly gave him a place, 

And never were known to laugh out in his face. 

There were some always ready to wait on the rest, 

And the other birds certainly loved these the best; 

There were some that were chatterers, and not 
very real, 

Saying oftentimes more than they really did feel ; 

But each found some friends, and was courteous 
to each — 

A height that I trust we may all of us reach. 

But, one day came a Magpie ; he rented a tree 

Where the birds rarely flew, — rather shabby to 
see, — 

For the lightning had struck it one terrible night, 

When two nestlings were killed in their horrified 
sight. 

There, in a large crevice, he kept all his stores ; 

He had really no need of strong padlocks nor 
doors ; 

For these birds were so honest; and what could 
they do, 

If he gave them the things that would sometimes 
peep through 


104 


THE OLD MAGPIE. 


The trunk of the tree. Such a very odd mess 

Would have been an annoyance, — a positive 
distress ! 

But he thought them most costly, these treasured- 
up things ; 

They were nondescript, very — half scissors and 
rings, 

And shreds of old rags. Well, I never have heard 

Of such curious stuff to belong to a bird ! 

There he lived by himself, hut he often went out 

When the birds were all chirping and flying about; 

And he seemed to know everything ; just what to 
say ; 

Then he had, when he spoke, such an affable 
way, 

That his influence was great, and the birds thought 
him wise, 

For his very sweet flatteries soon blinded their 
eyes. 

He was friendly towards all, and he talked a good 
deal, 

While he seemed for the welfare of others to 
feel ; 

And he learned all their secrets. How, how it 
was done, 

I cannot imagine ! I know there was none 


THE OLD MAGPIE. 


105 


That could seem more delighted, more anxious 
than he, 

That the birds in the pleasantest ways should 
agree ; 

But somehow it happened, whenever he came, 

That the ones that he talked to were not quite the 
same. 

They thought they had suffered unmerited wrong, 

And their love towards their friends grew less open 
and strong. 

Then they turned so suspicious, these once guile- 
less birds ; 

The sweet milk of kindness soon soured to curds. 

Then they grew so sarcastic ; the rest in a huff, 

Said they wouldn’t stand such ridiculous stuff; 

They heard something once that they wished they 
might tell, 

But they couldn’t speak out, — which, perhaps, was 
as well. 

The Magpie seemed sorry they could not agree; 

There was never a bird so condoling as he ; 

But, somehow, the jarring grew worse every day. 

The Poet-bird said he no longer could stay ; 

He would seek some new haven of love and of 
peace, 

Till this bitter contention and sarcasm should 
cease. 


106 


THE OLD MAGPIE. 


Then one of the shy ones said he would go, too, 

And one very bright morning away they both 
flew ; 

But they stopped on the top of the high shaded 
wall, 

To sing a good-bye to their friends, one and all. 

The Poet began, when his friend touched his 
wing, 

“ It really does seem a contemptible thing 

To listen in secret ; but, as for this bird, — 

This Magpie, — I know he don’t utter a word 

That isn’t a falsehood ! Let’s hear what he says. 

He’ll be caught, that I know, in his treacherous 
ways. 

I’ve had my eye on him ; I’d like to find out 

What the smiling old miscreant is chattering 
about.” 

How the Poet-bird couldn’t well chide his dear 
friend, 

But he hopped in great haste to the wall’s furthest 
end ; 

The other stood under the tall, blasted tree, 

Where some friend of the Magpie then happened 
to be. 

“I’ve so much to tell you ; I’m having such fun ! 

You wouldn’t believe all the mischief I’ve done. 


THE OLD MAGPIE. 


107 


When I came here, these birds talked of friend- 
ship, and such, 

But I stirred them all up ; gave the finishing 
touch ; 

And from loving each other, they wrangle like 
men ! 

If they stop, I say something, — they’re at it again ! 

It s really amusing to hear them complain 

Each one of the other ! They all are so vain, 

When I flatter them up, they bow down to my 
will; 

Each thinks me his friend and best counsellor 
still !” 

Here the breeze shook the tree, and he lost all the 
rest. 

“Hist! hist! I am going straight back to the 
nest. 

I have something to tell to our quarrelsome birds ; 

Come, help me to carry these very odd words.” 

So they stopped at each tree in succession, and 
told 

What was said by the Magpie, so slanderous and 
bold. 

Such a scene, when the Shy One had gone all 
around. 

The little birds flew from the trees to the ground ; 


108 


THE OLD MAGPIE. 


Then back to their nests ! Such comparing of 
notes ! 

I am sure the next day they had very sore throats. 

There were looks of repentance ; friend flew up to 
friend ; 

The long reign of suspicion had come to an end. 

Such murmurings of shame for ridiculous things ; 

Such caressing and sorrow, and flutt’ring of wings; 

Such indignant, low chirpings against the mean 
bird 

That had caused all their follies, you never have 
heard ! 

One said he would tear the base Magpie to shreds. 

Some proposed a small cannon, well shotted with 
leads, 

Should be purchased, and placed just below on the 
walk, 

So, when next the old knave, with his treacherous 
talk, 

Should fly from his tree, they might riddle him 
well ; 

Then, while he was dying, their tale they would 
tell. 

But the Shy One they used to consider so dumb, 

Said, “ Friends, this is nonsense ! I hope you will 
come 


THE OLD MAGPIE. 


109 


To look with clear eyes at the facts of the case. 

It is true that the Magpie is treacherous and base, 
But we all have, most certainly, been in the wrong! 
Now, if birds were as loving, and patient, and 
strong, 

As I think we may be, this old Magpie might fly, 
'With no one to heed a mean scandal or lie. 

If you take my advice, you will hid him decamp ; 
Small punishment this for the tattling old scamp ; 
But, on this bright day of reunion and love, 

I think a right spirit in you it would prove.” 

The birds thought a moment, and said he was right; 
To kill him, would only show anger and spite. 

So they flew in a body, and covered the tree 
Where the Magpie was perched up, as gay as could 
be. 

And the Shy One as spokesman, sang out very 
clear, 

And the bird, all amazement, soon trembled with 
fear; 

For the rest looked so wrathful, he didn’t dare 
move, 

And his innocence, really, he couldn’t well prove. 
So he sat till the Shy One had shown his great sin, 
And then all the others in concert begin. 

Each one can recount some particular crime ; 

And all of them chatt’ring so hoarse at one time, 


110 


Charley’s sister. 


The Shy One says, “ Just indignation speaks loud; 

Sir Magpie, you’d better get out of this crowd 

While yet you are safe. Go, and never come back; 

For, when birds are excited, all prudence they 
lack.” 

So he suddenly flew, while small twigs and loud 
jeers 

Flew violently round the old hypocrite’s ears. 

Then the birds, cooling off, sang a very glad song, 

And resolved to grow loving, and patient, and 
strong ; 

And now they are living in Friendship and Peace, 

It is time that my rather long story should cease. 


CHARLEY’S SISTER. 

H ER little chair drawn close beside 
Her weeping Mother’s knee, 

She said, “ Since little Charley died 
You do not care for me ! 

“You kiss me, then you cry again, 
And quickly turn away. 

It gives you only bitter pain, 

And so I dare not stay. 


Charley’s sister. 


Ill 


“I too feel very, very sad; 

I wish, the truth I knew. 

They say he lives with angels fair; 

I don’t believe it’s true ! 

“If he were really happy there, 

You would not always cry. 

It is so hard my brother dear 
In the dark grave should lie ! 

“At night I wake and shuddering say, 
For him it’s darker still. 

It seems so fearful ; no more day 
Under that dreadful hill! 

“ Why couldn’t little Charley stay ? 

We always loved him so! 

God acted in a wicked way, 

To make my brother go !” 

“Dear child,” the startled Mother said, 
“ He is an angel fair. 

Your darling brother is not dead; 
God took him to his care. 

He loved him more than you or I, 
And gently led him home. 

Through sunset gates in yonder sky, 
He passed no more to roam. 


112 


Charley’s sister. 


“To Charley’s home we too shall go, 

If we are good and true. 

God watches o’er us here below, 

Is always guarding you. 

“And when she wakens in the night, 

My little girl must say, 

‘Father, Thy love sheds heavenly light; 
For deeper Faith I pray. 

‘This darkness cannot drive away 
Thy tender care for me. 

I feel at last some cloudless day 
My Brother I will see.’ 

“ Oh, little daughter ! God is kind ; 

He left you to my care ; 

And if this heart seemed cold and blind, 
He read the anguish there. 

“The place where little Charley lay, 

We’ll set with fairest flowers, 

That there the humming-birds may stay — 
A garden like to ours. 

“We will no longer grieve and cry; 

My little girl shall be 
A loving friend that’s always nigh, 

To keep me company.” 


SHIPS AT SEA. 


113 


SHIPS AT SEA. 

T WO stood talking in the street; 

One was tall, with voice so sweet 
That the hoy instinctive stopped ; 

Thus he heard the words that dropped: 

“ So I said I’d vouch to you, 

That the tale he told was true; 

Each one gave a helping mite.” 

Here a face as dark as Night, 

Fixed his gaze. The stranger’s flush 
Met the list’ner’s answering blush. 

“When my ships come home from Sea, 

I may give in charity.” 

So much did the list’ner hear, 

While he marked the covert sneer 
On that face so hard and cold; 

And he wondered if the gold 
He might heap would bring a smile 
Into eyes that looked the while. 

There no generous thought had place; 
And the hoy, with slower pace, 

Sought his home, where from his hook 
One looked up with kindliest look, 
Welcoming his little son : — 

“Well, my boy! are lessons done?” 

8 


114 SHIPS AT SEA. 

“ Sober looks ! JSTo face for play ! 

What has wrought such change to-day ?” 
Then he drew him to his knee. 

“Tell me what your thought may be!” 

“Father, where are Uncle’s ships?” 

Smiles play ’round his hearer’s lips, 

Yet he heaves a stifled sigh, 

Ere he speaks in low reply : — 

“ Ships I fear he’ll never see, 

Wrecked upon a wintry sea; 

Stranded under darkened skies, 

Whence no gleams of Morning rise ! 
Where these ships I cannot guess; 

But the power to cheer and bless, 

Does not lie in hoards of gold ; 

Love is wealth — its weight untold! 

“Part in God’s all won’drous plan, 

Soon my son will be a man. 

With a heart-glow deep and true, 

Strive a brother’s part to do. 

Keep that heart an open door 
To the sorrows of the poor; 

Offer service true and free, 

Waiting not for ships at sea. 

“Let kind deeds like incense rise 
In a glad self-sacrifice; 


THE BEE AND THE FLY. 


115 


Keep your eyes on things above; 
Set your heart in thoughts of love ; 
Give your mite, whate’er it he; 
Never wait for ships at sea!” 


THE BEE AND THE ELY. 

A LITTLE Bee chanced to buzz close to a flower. 
Where a Ely had been lazily dozing an hour, 
Just under the rose-leaves— the place was so cool; 
And ease, you must know, was the little Fly’s rule! 
He seemed old enough to take care of himself, 
And a morsel of food to lay up on the shelf, 

In case there occurred any sudden mishap; 

But there he was snoring, and taking a nap, 
And dreaming some nonsense, the "lazy young 
thing; 

The sudden noise waked him ; he lifted one wing, 
Then dropped it again— thought the Bee a great 
bore — 

And settled himself for a sleep, as before. 

But the Bee came so close, as the honey he took 
That he sat up despairing, to take a good look. 

The other one worked like a diligent Bee, 

As the Fly ’neath the rose-leaves could readily see. 


116 


THE BEE AND THE FLY. 


“ Oh, what a great dunce !” so at length he broke 
out. 

“ If I were as you are, so clumsy and stout, 

I might buzz near the hive, or a very short walk, 
Perhaps take for a visit, and neighborly talk. 
But to go such a distance, and work in this heat ! 
I’m really quite thankful I find things to eat 
Without such hard labor; — I fly, if I please; 

If I don’t, I may slumber or crawl at my ease. 
While you, just to look at you, makes me feel tired ! 
To work in that manner, I could not be hired !” 

The Bee stopped a moment and looked at the Fly ; 
“ Excuse me for buzzing when you were close by, 
But you know it’s a habit I have at all times. 
That can never be numbered as one of your crimes, 
Since you scarce ever budge ! To be candid, my 
dear, 

I feel much like pulling your very small ear. 
You’re impertinent — very, but soon you’ll find out, 
I but show common prudence in buzzing about. 
Good morning, you little luxurious Fly! 

I fear you’ll repent when your chance has gone by.” 
He buzzed and was gone, to look up a new flower, 
And get home in good time to escape from a shower. 
The little Fly smiled, with his head in his wing, 
And said, “ How I pity him — stupid old thing.” 

The Summer was gone ; in the depths of his hive 
The Bee was well fed, and continued to thrive ; 


ONLY A JOKE!” 


117 


But the poor little Fly was quite chilled through 
and through. 

Where could he find provender, what should he do ! 
He tried at the window, hut folks didn’t care 
For the poor little Fly that was shivering there. 
.And he crawled on the pane in a very sad way: 

“I suppose I must go without dinner to-day: 
I’m so numbed I can’t fly if I tried ever so. 

I hated all etfort — I thought it so low! 

But now when I think of the clumsy old Bee, 

I envy his lot, and my folly I see. 

I thought all the year under rose-leaves to lie, 
But the cold spell is coming, and now I must die !” 


“ONLY A JOKE!” 

mHEY stopped for a rest from the heat of the sun, 
J- ’Neath the shade of the tree; all their lessons 
were done 

For the rest of the day. You could tell by their 
looks, 

The four were well pleased to throw all their books 
On the grass, where wild flowers so tender and fair, 
Gave lessons of wisdom to all who stopped there. 
But the boys didn’t care for such teachers as these ; 
They liked better to run and to shout at their ease. 


118 


ONLY A JOKE! 


“Ho! ho! we can have a most excellent joke!. 

Here crawls that Will Evans — he’s such a real poke ! 

He isn’t near up to the terrible wood; 

How, listen, quick, hoys, for the story’s so good ! 

“He is nervous, you know, though he looks rather 
bright. 

I just met him one day I was flying my kite, 

And he asked me to go with him past that dark 
wood, 

But I laughed in his face — for the thing was so 
good ! 

“ He’s such a great coward ! I know he would run. 

Let’s frighten him well — it will be such good fun ! 

We can hide in the bushes— I’ll give a loud cry, 

And jump suddenly up;— you will see how he’ill 
fly!” 

So the boys scrambled down by a path which they 
knew, 

And hid near the bushes the child must pass 
through. 

He was younger than they, and had very bright eyes, 

But they seemed to look out for unpleasant surprise ; 

And he walked there alone at a very brisk pace, 

As the boughs of the wood threw their shade on 
his face, 

While he carried his books with a very close grip, 

As if in his trembling the satchel might slip. 


11 ONLY A JOKE! 


119 


As he came near the hushes he heard a wild sound, 

And the hoy, without stopping at all to glance 
round, 

Hushed on through the wood like a startled young 
deer, 

And out in broad sunshine. The deep creek was 
near, 

But the desperate hoy, too much hurried for care, 

Wild shouting behind him, and dark shadows there, 

Dashed over the bridge, then the hoys saw him fall ! 

This sight, you may judge, sadly sobered them all. 

They were not far behind, and they ran to the bank; 

One plunged where the struggling hoy rapidly sank, 

And bore in his strong arms the delicate child, 

Whose features distorted, were ghastly and wild ; 

And they rubbed him, with faces as white as his 
own, 

Till the boy breathed again, as he gave a low moan. 

Then they carried him into a house that was near, 

With remorse for the fun which had cost him so 
dear, 

And his Mother came weeping, to watch by her 
child, 

Who always looked up, when their eyes met, and 
smiled ; 

But he knew her no longer ! All through that dark 
night 

His brain wandered hack to the scene of his fright, 


120 


THE GREEDY MOUSE. 


And he lived it all over — the terror— the pain — 
And they feared all their watching and waiting 
were vain. 

For days he lay tossing in fever so high, 

He saw not his friends, nor the sunshine, nor sky ; 
But at last, pale and thin, with a pitiful smile, 
Towards his Mother who watched him that long, 
dreary while, 

Her darling breathed freely, and reason awoke ; 
The boys meant no harm — it was “ only a joke !” 


THE GREEDY MOUSE. 

A LITTLE Mouse lived in a hole near the shelf, 
Where the pick of the pantry he had to 
himself. 

There nibbling he stayed, and they never found out 
What the little, luxurious thief was about, 
jgo he ate of all good things ; the least little sound 
Would make him jump into his hole at one bound, 
Where he listened till all things were quiet once 
more, 

When he came out to scamper and eat as before. 


THE GREEDY MOUSE. 


121 


The days passed away ; he was thin when he came, 
But he grew fat as butter, and thought it a shame 
If they didn’t bring in some rich pudding each 
night, 

That before going to bed he might have a good 
bite. 

He no longer could scamper — he walked on the 
shelf — 

He considered it his, the impertinent elf; 

And peeped o’er the edge, with an impudent look, 
As some very nice relish he daintily took. 

He was not more greedy than children I’ve seen, 
But I hope there are none so contemptibly mean, 
For now I must tell you of one little fact, 
Bevealing how badly this young Mouse could act. 

One day as he leaned ’gainst a bag-full of rice, 

Still nibbling at something remarkably nice, 

He suddenly pricked up one delicate ear: — 

“ What can be that very odd noise that I hear! 

It sounds like a Mouse gnawing back of the shelf; 
I’ll very soon show him that none but myself 
Has a right to be here, and I’ll speak out so plain 
That the impudent fellow won’t dare to remain. 
It’s very annoying! — the whole hungry crewv 
Will follow him soon if he once can get through, 
And see my rich fare, and report to the rest, 
Where they are half-starving, I feed on the best !” 


122 


THE GREEDY MOUSE. 


The little Mouse waited, impatient and grim; 

He felt the intrusion an insult to him, 

And trembled with rage, when a Mouse weak and 
thin, 

But bowing and scraping, crept timidly in. 

“ Good morning, your worship ! I wouldn’t in- 
trude, 

But I’m so very hungry; this place smelt so 
good 

When I stopped at a crack in the corner up 
there. 

But bless me ! why, neighbor, I really declare, 

I didn’t remember ! you’re growing so plump ! 

Just think how we two used to scamper and jump 

In that dingy old loft — when our Mothers would 
cry: 

‘You’ll hurt yourselves, darlings! don’t caper so 
high !’ 


“I have no recollection of times so remote,” 

Said the other, a gurgle of rage in his throat, — 

“ To speak plain, I don’t know you ! Go ! say not 
a word, 

And take yourself off ere your voice can be 
heard. 

Some friend may drop in ! Do you hear what I 
say? 

Go! take yourself instantly out of the way!” 


THE GREEDY MOUSE. 


123 


So saying, he gave him a push towards the crack ; 
The other one roused, gave his lordship one hack, 
When ^at the weak Mouse like a tiger he flew, 
Intending to heat, and to bite him well, too. 
Just then, as it happened, a house-maid came in, 
And fright nearly made her jump out of her skin, 
When she saw the two mice ; and she turned, with 
a scream, 

Too much frightened to punish, it really would 
seem ; 

But ere she ran— wildly, but surely, she threw, 
Caught off from her foot, a distressed looking 
shoe. 

The hungry Mouse dodged, and escaped to his 
crack, 

So frightened, he never once turned to look back. 
The other one tried to get out of the way, 

As he saw the shoe come that unfortunate day ; 
But it struck him so hard, so decided a blow, 
That just in one second his pride was laid low. 

He was stiff as a post, on the shelf where he fed 

The greedy and mean little Mouse lay there dead. 


124 


THE COUSINS. 


THE COUSINS. 

u jy[Y ^ ears,,> sa ^ a ^ er ^ u pp^ es ° ne 

“ I wish you would take yourselves out of the way; 
You make so much noise in your frisking and fun, 
I dreamed that the end of the world had begun ! 

I wish, for an hour, you three would go out, 

And give me some comfort by rambling about.” 
And the Pups give assent with a kick of their heels; 
You may know T how delighted the poor Mother 
feels. 

One after another they trotted along, — 

The three little Puppies, — so jolly and strong. 

“ Suppose we go see if our Cousin has come,” 

Said the eldest: “How glad he must he to get 
home, 

And roll on the grass, and be quite at his ease ; 

In the city, I hear, they can’t do as they please, 
But must sit up at windows, so solemn and prim, 
Without even harking, or moving a limb ; 

And if, for one moment, they run in the street, 
The sausage-man chops them straight up into 
meat; 


THE COUSINS. 


125 


Which isn’t so pleasant, and really don’t pay, 

Whatever the dandified town-pups may say.” 

“Is that true!” said the second: u How dreadful 
it sounds !” 

And he gave, as he said it, two kicks, and three 
hounds, 

To prove to himself he was quite well content 

To know that his days in the country were spent. 

While the third little Pup thought it quite a good 
joke, 

And gave, with a grin, an incredulous poke. 

So, chatting and frisking, the distance was past, 

And they reached the frame-house of their Cousin 
at last. 

They ran through the yard with obstreperous 
glee, 

But no sign of life could the Puppy-Dogs see. 

Their Cousin was famous for chasing the rats ; 

Indeed, in this work he excelled all the cats 

His master had had for a number of years ; 

He made for their necks, never hampered by 
fears ; 

And being remarkably active and strong, 

He hadn’t occasion to trouble them long. 

Such being the case, you may guess the surprise 

Which the Puppy-Dogs felt when this sight met 
their eyes ! 


126 


THE COUSINS. 


The barn-door stood open; there lay some ripe 
grain, 

All black with great rats, and they saw just as 
plain, 

Their Cousin asleep ’neath the thresher beyond ; 
While fearless, indeed, I may say rather fond, 

His enemies nibbled and frisked near his head; 
The youngest pup thought he was certainly dead ; 
Hut the other two both heard him give a slight 
snore, 

As they stood staring in at the half-opened door. 

“0, Cousin ! the place is all swarming with rats;” 
“ I leave such small game to their equals, the cats,” 
He said, half awake ; then he opened his eyes 
And looked round the barn with no sign of sur- 
prise. 

And, would you believe it, the rats didn’t run ! 

One stopped, in the midst of his frisking and fun, 
To wink at the dog, — once his bitterest foe, — 
Which looked very funny, although it was low. 

He rose, and quite daintily put out his paw, 

And then a great change his young relatives saw. 
He used to be slender, in fact, rather thin ; 

But now he rejoiced in a great double chin ; 

While his eyes, once so keen, were embedded in 
fat, 

And he hated all work, you could plainly see that. 


THE COUSINS. 


127 


“ Walk in and get rested. T find it a bore 
To run as I foolishly used to before ! 

I ve learned this true wisdom, — to live at my ease, 
And to sleep half the time, and do just as I please! 
I never will trouble a rat or a mouse ; 

I rarely come in here, but lounge near the house; 
And Cook knows my relish for delicate bits ; 

She makes, in her business, some capital hits; 

And I live like a gentleman ; labor is low ; 

If my master complains I will soon tell him so. 

My friends in the city had fashion and taste, 

And I grew sympathetic, so happily placed; 

To their view of the question I quickly inclined ; 
All work is destructive to body and mind ; 

All motion is wearisome, — vulgar, indeed, 

(Just look at those quizzical rats how they feed !”) 

The Pups stood bewildered : it seemed very plain 
It would look rather stupid for them to remain. 
This Cousin was new, and would think it a bore 
To romp or to chatter with them as before ; 

So the eldest one said it was nearly tea-time, 

And their Mother would think it a very great 
crime 

If they didn’t come home ere she spread out the 
bones. 

“ 0, pshaw ! what a meal ! I’d as leave eat the 
stones 


128 


THE COUSINS. 


That lie in the lane ; but each one to his taste ; 

I feed on the best, and I revel in waste. 

“ My mother, indeed, sheds abundance of tears, 

(A stupid proceeding for one of her years ;) 

She is vulgar, poor thing, and would have me plod 
through 

The ridiculous work that I once used to do. 

She talks about earning the food that I eat, 

(That impudent rat ran just under my feet,) 

I hate such suggestions ! with fashion and wit, 

I feel sure that in time I will make a great hit. 

My regards to my Aunt ; don’t forget to stop in 
Here his voice was quite lost in the folds of his 
chin. 

And he looked towards the thresher, as much as 
to say,. 

“ I really am wasting the whole of the day.” 

So the Puppies, abashed by the airs he had got, 
Set off for their home at a soberer trot ; 
Concluding, however, they never would be, 

If they could, such a silly young dandy as he. 


THE END. 


















































































































































































































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